


Is This For Real?

by AraneaNemesis



Series: Stories We Invent – The Fourth Weaver's Tale [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Loki Does What He Wants, Manipulation, Mental Instability, Norse Myths & Legends, POV First Person, Relationship Issues, Revenge, Sarcasm, Self-Esteem Issues, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraneaNemesis/pseuds/AraneaNemesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are you supposed to do when an insane alien calling himself god of mischief decides to include you in one of his plans?<br/>Basic survival instinct would go for shut up, obey, and try to get out of there unharmed. Yeah, that would be sensible.<br/>But sensible is not exactly fun, is it? Particularly when you have nothing to lose...</p><p>In which Loki does NOT get better or fix any of his issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I could stand, I could walk, and I could scream. Which I did.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted in smaller fragments here: http://thestoriesweinvent.tumblr.com/

         I shouldn’t have dared.  
         It was the worst idea ever.  
         What was I thinking, believing I could outwit a god?

* * *

         I’m sitting on the floor in a dark, draughty corridor, trying to understand the shouting happening on the other side of the massive door just in front of me; trying to ignore the blue-green eyes glaring at me from that corner on the left; trying to make sense out of this whole situation; and above all trying to keep the giggling under control, because it will certainly not help. But seriously, of all the supernatural places men bright and dumb have invented, why did I have to arrive in the tackiest one ever? I breathe deeply to quiet the totally out-of-place hilarity I can feel growing in my chest.

         “Are you feeling nervous?”

         Can I really answer him that I actually need to remember how dangerous my situation is so I don’t laugh? “Not exactly nervous,” I say.

         “Then you are nothing but an idiot.”

         That’s it. These are the only two sentences he spoke over the past half-hour and I already want to punch him in the face. “Well,” I answer without looking at him, “when you’ve been greeted to a supposed paradise by a pile of corpses instead of slowly drifting into death as you had planned, it takes a lot more than shouting to make you nervous.” That should keep him quiet for a while; he hates it when I remind him that I was going to die anyway. It means I don’t care about surviving, right now, making me uncontrollable. And it actually helps me put everything that has happened to me over the past days into perspective. Because showy décor or not, I _did_ get a second chance. And of all people, maybe I’m not the one who deserves it most.

         The decision to die didn’t come as the conclusion of a lengthy depressive state; to be honest, I’ve always been a sort of drama queen, threatening to hurt myself every other time someone upset me, prone to soar very high on the wings of euphoria only to crash down harder a few days later. The only difference this time was that I didn’t warn anyone about how hard the crash had been. And as by some sort of miracle I can’t explain, I’ve always resisted drug addiction despite the people I worked with, I didn’t have the chemical help some of my… friends, for lack of better word, regularly used. I need to keep it in mind: I wasn’t a junkie.

         Until very recently, I wrote books. All sorts of books, fiction, essays, short stories, a novel or two. But to pay the bills, and because my only other alternative was teaching – a prospect I found ghastly, – I mostly wrote biographies. The official ones. I wasn’t a ghost, writing autobiographies for others who didn’t have the time or the skill, the book had my name on the cover, but I didn’t do any investigation, didn’t publish any controversial account of my discoveries. First of all because it wasn’t what my readers were interested in, and second because being discreet and reliable propelled me into the company of powerful people so much more easily than all the righteous reporters I’ve ever met. These disregarded journalists used to say that I was morally impaired, hearing about all these dirty secrets and never using the opportunity to denounce my clients’ wrongdoings, but the fact was that I knew and they didn’t. And my status didn’t require me to be objective, or even detached from the subject, quite the contrary, so it allowed me to get closer to many, many influential politicians. And yes, I mean very close. In _that_ sense. Not that I’m particularly attractive or anything, but it was the context. I was there, I knew how to strike up a conversation, and I spent weeks listening to their confessions without a sound, without being judgmental, without trying to fix any of these men’s – and women’s – anomalies. At first I was surprised at how easily they overlooked any pain they could cause to their families, but soon I learnt to create the perfect balance between being a threat and a challenge. I realized that if I stayed in the background, I could make it, and make it big.

         Until I got involved in a long-term affair with the wrong person. Stuart. Young, handsome, promising MP. We could have been great together, but his wife found out, and she wasn’t of the forgetting type. I lost the contract; I lost my reputation; I lost my agent. I also lost most of my money, because she had connections with the mob – meaning that half her family was involved in traffics of all sorts – and I had to move back into my old life, my life before power. I couldn’t manage it. I had known more; I needed the thrill.

         So I swallowed twenty sleeping pills, washed them down with a bottle of Teacher’s whisky – oh, the irony – and left the worst suicide note ever, along with a hard drive full of all the notes I had taken, including the ones that couldn’t go in the books. I know, it was a twisted idea; but I wanted to make them pay. I still don’t know if it caused the mayhem I intended, but at least I tried.

         Yet it must be nothing compared to the confusion I’ve created since I arrived here.

         In Asgard.

         That’s it, I’m laughing now. I hear an irritated sigh and the sound of someone walking away, but I don’t care. He thinks I’m half mad anyway, and I’m not even trying to change his mind about that, since listening to someone like me is beneath him. By someone like me, he means an inferior being. A human.      

         Because you know how they say you have to reach the bottom to be able to stand up again? I’d hit rock bottom, and the sleeping pills gave me an uncanny kick, strong enough to send me higher than any mortal has been – as far as I know, anyway. The gods picked me up.

         Well, not exactly _picked_ me, I wasn’t chosen. And not just some god. Loki, Norse god of what I have come to call ambivalence. Or deceit, lies, mischief, as you wish, all are equally suitable. Technically, he’s an alien, and he was responsible for the attack on New York not so long ago, but was simply designated as a terrorist, because how would people have reacted if they’d learnt a megalomaniac extra-terrestrial had attacked them? And just because he could try, he decided to transfer some mortals into his own realm of Asgard, since he was forbidden to ever set foot on Earth again.

         I swear it; it was whisky and sleeping pills. I got my hits from testing the limits of my power over people, not from mushrooms.

         I remember thinking I should probably turn the telly off before the pills kicked in, and then nothing. But instead of dying, I woke up in some sort of cold, dark place, and I heard an equally cold voice mutter words I couldn’t quite make out, something like “why did it only work on a dead one? So much reparation to do.” I tried to scream I didn’t want to be repaired, but I couldn’t move and drifted back off to sleep. When I opened my eyes again, my head was throbbing, my stomach burning, but I could stand, I could walk, and I could scream. Which I did, because there was a dozen corpses piled up in a corner of the vault I had been transported to. I jumped to my feet, struggling with dizziness, listing up who among the people I had most likely pissed off with my goodbye package could be screwed enough to save me and imprison me, and looked everywhere for something I could use as a weapon. Not that it would have really helped, since I couldn’t fight even if my life depended on it, but maybe the psychopath keeping me here didn’t know that. I tried screaming again, hoping it would frighten whoever had kidnapped me. As if. Still howling at nothing in particular, I tried to open the door; but it turned out that it wasn’t the door, since I heard somebody walk in from the other end of the cave. “Will you stop shouting? I had forgotten you were so loud.”

         That quieted me. It had to be someone who knew me well enough to know that I – wait a minute. I didn’t recognize the voice. And I always recognize voices. I turned around and kept my back to the wall. “Who are you? What happened to me? Why am I not dead? And what _is_ this place?”

          A tall figure slowly walked out of the shadows, and that’s when I first suspected I had gone mad, so I laughed. Because the first thing I recognized from the footage I’d seen was that crazy-ass pale guy who dressed in a green cloak and had probably lost a truth or dare bet condemning him to wear the most ridiculous item in the fancy costumes store. On the other hand, his clothes would have scored big on How To Look Good Naked. Or dressed, for that matter.

         “How dare you laugh at me? I am Loki, of Asgard, and you should worship me as your god!”

         As far as I could remember from the secret files I’d managed to see, that man standing there calling himself a god came from outer space. Did that mean I was –? Ok; so I was mad as a hatter anyway, what did I risk? “I’m an atheist; I don’t believe in any sort of god. And anyway, I once showered the Prime Minister in champagne, so –”

         “Silence!” I obeyed. He had a sharp… something in his hand, and I didn’t have anything. And if this was death or madness, I could tell from the loud pumping in my head I could still feel pain, and I didn’t like pain. “I brought you here for a specific purpose, and I won’t hurt you if you do exactly as I say.”

         That’s a sort of sentence I had learnt not to challenge directly. It happens more than one would think. “And what is it you want me to do?”

         “That is none of your concern for now. I have to make sure your weakling’s body will not fail you before I let you out of here.”

         “Is that what happened to the others?” I pointed at the corpses.

         “No; they were already dead when they arrived here. They didn’t survive the transfer.” He shrugged.

         _Oh,_ I thought. _So you’re psycho. Ok._ He pointed at the table and I sat back on it, knowing better than to resist. I shivered. “Then why am I not dead? I heard someone… you perhaps, saying I was damaged.”

         “You were. I took care of that.”

         I felt anger flaring inside me. “Why on Earth would you do such a thing? You wanted to prevent me from killing myself?”

         “Prevent you from killing yourself? No; but you had survived the transfer, I wasn’t going to let chemicals ruin my work. You have no idea how important this is.”

         That’s when I started thinking I had some sort of advantage over him. I always know when I have the advantage. Well, _almost_ always. “And what are you going to do with me?” He didn’t answer and proceeded to handle strange devices that glowed blue and red and gold. “Hey, I’m talking to you! What transfer are you talking about?”

         “I have successfully transported you from your world to mine by a process I will not even try to explain, as your intellect can’t possibly comprehend it.”

         _Well, thank you, asshole._ “And to what avail, may I ask?” I could feel RP kicking in automatically as he spoke.

         “You don’t want to make me repeat an answer I have already given.”

         I arched an eyebrow. “If you say so.” I looked about the vault. “Why me?”

         “I didn’t choose you,” he snickered.

         “Oh. And will you send me back once you’re finished?”

         “I never intended to allow you back.” He fumbled around with more strange objects and started leaving without another word.

         “Hey, what am I to do now?”

         “Your body still needs to get stronger. You will sleep, woman.”

         _Woman? Is this for real?_ He was almost gone when I reacted. “Hey,” I hesitated. I wasn’t going to call him by a Norse god’s name! “Er… beetle-god! My name’s Eileen.”

         “I don’t care. And if you don’t want to use my name, you can address me as my lord.”

         My eyelids were already feeling heavier. “I will most certainly _not_ do that,” I muttered before everything went black again.

 


	2. Get back at him later.

I have to confess I’m still wondering whether this is actually happening or not. I’ve just met other aliens, equalling the important gods from the Norse pantheon, actually, and I can barely make myself think of these guys as Thor or Odin from the mythology I studied. Seriously. I have a thousand questions to ask, but I haven’t seen that many people around, and except when he’s talking about how great he is, Loki considers I’m unworthy of the air he might use by answering me. That’s why I’m always trying to irritate him, so he actually _has_ to snap something back. I might do that right now; I’m getting bored in this corridor. I’m thinking something up when the gigantic door opposite me opens and I hear a tremendous voice. “I need Loki in here at once.”

         I observe how he tenses up before entering; nothing is happening the way he had planned it, and all because of me. Oops. “You stay here and do what you’re told.”

         “What else can I do?” I ask innocently.

         He frowns at me. “Isn’t that what you said the last time?”

         I just smile; he’s right. Once he was sure I would survive, he explained he needed me to go and beg the king of Asgard to let him be in charge of Earth in place of Thor, because we needed it. I refrained from commenting on that, but I had to sit through long days of his ravings about eventually claiming Earth as his territory. When I pointed out that having a planet didn’t necessarily mean slaughtering every living creature on it, he just shrugged and complained about how he was nicknamed the Liesmith and nobody ever trusted him. I thought it would be too risky to underline the causality in his statement and kept quiet.

         So when he walked in one morning telling me I was granted an audience the same day, I smiled, accepted, and designed a plan.

         Yes, I tried being a smart ass and mess up a god’s plans. Yes, Loki’s probably right, I’m an idiot.

         I played my part well. I could tell the others were surprised, and that my speech compelled them to overlook the fact that Loki had blatantly transgressed every order he was given. There was a lot of uncertainty once I had finished begging for more effective protection, that only a handful of humans knew what they were doing but that most of us were bestial and stupid. To be honest, after years of diving into political secrets, I didn’t really have to try too hard making myself say all that. I concluded with asking them to save humankind from self-destruction.

         My kidnapper seemed extremely pleased with my performance. “Allfather,” he said, “let this serve as proof for my claim. The humans need more effective protection than Thor’s surveillance.”

         That’s when I started improvising. I sank to Loki’s knees and buried my face in my hands. “Yes, we do! Please, please, now that you have found a way to bring mortals to a better world, please don’t let me be the only enlightened one! Pull out more of us from the dark cave where we are dwelling and show them the real light, the real things they only see shadows of!” I looked up to him, and the expression of horrified incomprehension on his face was better than anything. “Not all of us are worth the effort, you have seen that with the others who refused your gift, but so many would be just like me, grateful for the new opportunity you would give them.” I waited.

         “The others?” Odin asked. “What others?”

         “Her mind must have been damaged more than what I thought,” Loki answered with a straight face. “There are no others.”

         “You are too kind to defend them!” I kicked in. He wasn’t going to get out of it that easily. “You offered them protection, and they refused it; they have brought shame on humankind, and if they weren’t all dead I would have killed them myself.” I was having so much fun.

         “What is the meaning of this? Who is dead?”

         But suddenly, Thor seemed to understand something and interfered before I could answer. “Are you trying to take that planet from me again?”

         “Silence! I heard that there were dead people. Loki, isn’t it enough that you disobey me by visiting Earth again, then threaten our safety by bringing her here, now I hear you have killed more humans?”

         “I did not kill them, they were dead, they died when they were transferred; it took a long time before I thought of trying someone who was already dying.”

         Then they all started talking at the same time and it was chaos until Odin silenced everyone and commanded a guard to take me and Loki out so he could calm Thor’s temper. Once the guards had shut the doors on the shouting, Loki closed his hand around my jaw and pushed me against the wall. “You must think you’re so clever, thwarting my plans.”

         “As far as I understand it, you should be used to my kind ruining your little preparations,” I managed to mutter. He squinted at me. _Yes, I know things about you._

         The feral smile on his lips made me shiver. “You will pay for that, little idiot. You and your pathetic planet.”

         By then, I was past caring, so when he let go of me I sunk to the ground and stayed there.

 

* * *

 

 

         But I’ve been alone here since Loki has walked in and I can feel panic creeping inside me. At least when he’s around I can focus on something else than what I’m doing here. The shouting has stopped now, and the door opens again. “The mortal can come in.” That sentence clears the panic away, masking it with anger.

         I walk in. “I have a name.” I hear Loki’s snicker and turn to him. “Oh, I know it’s not as classy as ‘Liesmith’, but it’s mine.”

         “Silence!” It looks like the great god of war and poetry is struggling with a headache. Tell me about almighty deities… “What is your name?” Odin asks me.

         “Eileen,” I answer. “Eileen Weaver.”

         “Eileen Weaver, I am sorry that our quarrels have caused you harm. Loki should never have used you as a means to manipulate me, stealing you from your world. However, I understand that you had tried to put an end to your life. Is that true?” I nod. “I see. It makes the necessary decisions easier to make, then.” _What the hell does that mean?_ “Since it would be far too dangerous for us and for you to transfer you back, we will have to keep you here for an undetermined length of time.” _What??_ I open my eyes wide. “During your stay, you will enjoy unlimited possibilities to learn and explore anything and everything about the world as a whole, and I hope it will rekindle your wish to live. For the time you are here, I grant you our physical resistance to injuries and pain; none of what is lethal for a human can hurt you from now on.” I stare at him, trying to figure out if I’m feeling different. I don’t.

         “What are you saying?” Loki is furious, I don’t need to look at him to guess it. “Allfather, you cannot allow such a thing to be!”

         “Of course I can. What harm can it cause?” He turns his attention back to me. “Only you or one of us can kill you.”

         I don’t know what to answer. I’m still feeling pretty angry at them, these people who think they can prevent me from dying, from making my own stupid decisions. “I… I thank you, Allfather,” I say. “But do you realize you’ve just offered immortality to someone who doesn’t want to live?” Oops. That was probably the only thing _not_ to say. Loki is laughing again, but at the king now. This is not good.

         Odin’s lips tighten. “I see… Since you seem to find this amusing, my son, and you expressed the wish to be in charge of humans, I put Eileen Weaver under your protection. Should anything happen to her, even self-inflicted; especially self-inflicted, I will hold you responsible and send you back with her as a mortal. I have already cast one of my sons out, and I won’t hesitate to do it again.” _What? He called Loki his son?_ “You will know what it means, protecting someone from self-destruction, and maybe realize what it is you are about to face when you are thinking of claiming Earth.”

         I’m torn between laughing openly at the look on Loki’s face and flying into a hysterical rage. I decide I’m going to be stupid again. “You’re giving me a baby-sitter? I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

         I can feel the weight of the god’s single eye on me and I shiver. His voice is dreadfully calm. “That’s not what you were saying earlier. You were begging for Loki’s protection then; you have it. Now get out of my sight, both of you. I have never seen a mortal or an Asgardian or any other creature dwelling in the Nine Realms challenge my decisions in that way before.”

         I decide it’s probably wiser to comply, and I quietly leave the hall. I can hear Thor making fun of Loki behind us, and once we’re in the corridor again I’m relieved to see some guards because I know from the look in his eyes that he’s only waiting for us to be alone to attack me again. Everything that has gone wrong with his plans is my fault, and now I can’t even die in an unfortunate accident. Too bad. Yet as the guards escort me to what they say will be my rooms, my brain refuses to work. I am in danger, and I suddenly realize I’m feeling thrilled at the idea of trying to get out of there unharmed. Maybe that’s what I needed, after all. I don’t know exactly why, but suddenly there’s nothing more important than finding a way to convince Loki not to destroy me, because despite all Odin’s threats and promises, he will try; and I don’t want to be killed. If I die, I want to decide how and when.

         I still have nothing when we get to a bright, airy room. I think I might enjoy it here, if I survive the next half-hour. The guards tell me that if I want anything, I need just ask, since I am now a guest. “Can you stay here with me?” I try a smile. And fail.

         “No; you will be safe.”

         I’m not so sure about that, but I nod and they leave. I was right; as soon as I’m alone, I hear him. No, I feel him. Yet there was nobody in the room when I walked in. “How do you do that?” I ask.

         He laughs. “I can go anywhere unseen.”

         “Could you teach me?”

         “Of course I can’t teach you. It takes years of practice, and anyway you would never be able to learn.”

         “You don’t know that.” I turn to face him. I shiver again as the cold seeping from his eyes falls on me. I have to buy time. “What is there to explore? The Allfather said –”

         “What he said is of no importance to me.” And out of nowhere he’s just there, his right hand around my throat, quite simply choking me.

         “Gneh,” I utter. I claw at his fingers to ease the grip, but he’s far too strong for me. As air is getting scarce, I wonder how stupid it is not to have granted me at least the ability to fight him off. And that’s when I realize Odin probably never intended me to live at all. These gods really are a piece of work. I lift my foot and send it as hard as I can into Loki’s shinbone, and he’s so surprised he lets go. I slump to the ground and massage my neck, mastering my breathing to prevent hyperventilation. If that’s even possible in my new condition.

         He looks at me defiantly. “They usually beg me to save their lives.”

         “I have a death wish, remember?” That’s strange. My voice doesn’t sound hoarse. And it should be hurting as hell, but I can already swallow painlessly. “Plus,” I say as I get up again, “if you want people to be able to beg, strangling them isn’t the best way to kill them.” I cough softly. “Why can I speak?”

         “That’s what the Allfather meant. You are more resilient, and you can heal more quickly. But you will be able to come back if I choose to kill you. It might not work the first time, and they will take you to the healing room, time and again, until eventually there is no life left in you to catch you back.” He grins. “I know of many ways to do that.”

         Is that supposed to be scary? “So you’re still going to try and kill me?”

         “Give me one reason not to.”

         And now I have a small blade under my chin. I will certainly not heal easily if he slits my throat open. _I must not panic right now_ , I tell myself, and I don’t. “If you go on with this, you’re doing Odin a favour,” I say.

     “What is that supposed to mean?”                        

         “He wanted you to kill me; if you do, I’m not in the way anymore and he has a very valid reason to kick you out for good, because he regrets not doing it last time you screwed up even if apparently you did something good enough to make him forgive you for a while. And what will you do, once you’re on Earth as a mortal?” The dagger is still cold on my skin. I swallow. “If I stay alive, I’m a nuisance to you, but also to him, yet on the other hand he will assume he has control over you, since you’re apparently obeying his command of protecting me.” He snorts. “And even if you think you don’t want that, believe me, it will make things easier. He tried to outwit you; be clever and get back at him later.” I guess from the way he’s squinting at me that I’ve won the first round.

         He lowers the knife and backs away. “Welcome to Asgard, Eileen Weaver.” And he leaves me there.

         I wait a few seconds to be sure he won’t come back before I let myself fall to the floor, shaking so hard I can hardly breathe. That’s so typically me; I always panic _after_ making the decisions that put me in danger initially.

 


	3. Do as you are told

         I really wonder how long they’re going to keep me here. It’s been almost a month now and I’m so bored I’ve started to understand why Loki spends his time messing with people and watching them dance around. There’s absolutely nothing to do here; in any case, nothing that might ‘rekindle my wish to live’, as initially intended. Once I’ve looked out of the window twice and acknowledged how beautiful the scenery is, there’s still a dozen long hours to idle away before I can sleep again. And the worst is, I don’t need that much sleep. I’ve been asked not to wander too far from my rooms because they don’t want many people knowing I’m here. Brilliant.

         But even when I stay on this floor, I can tell from the look on their faces that they disapprove of my walking around. They might be deities and everything, but they’re rude, staring at me. They don’t talk to me, they don’t come to see me, but they don't mind detailing every one of my movements.

         So I’m cooped up in that room; it’s comfortable and everything, but I’ve started considering experiments on my new physical abilities, such as what would happen in I try to fly out of the window? The only thing that might make me refrain from doing so is that it will get Loki blamed. I know it would serve him well, since he’s responsible for my being here in the first place, and yet if he left I would really be alone. Not that he comes to see me that often, and I suspect he’s actually forced to do it, but he’s still company.

         He doesn’t have many topics of conversation apart from him and his situation; but it allows me to make what I hope is an accurate impression of how things work around here, of what happened to him, of the thick tangle of resentment, made-up pathos and megalomania he seems to be stuck into, of the twisted reasoning that lead him to try and destroy the race of aliens he originally came from to prove he belonged here. Apparently Odin has always pretended that Loki was his son and when the latter found out, it fuelled an unquenchable thirst for revenge that seems good enough a justification for killing a considerable bunch of people.

         I attempted a few questions about how the hell this is supposed to match Norse mythology, but I only got a faint flash of puzzlement on his face, soon replaced by death stares, and it convinced me to drop it until I get to speak to Odin. If that ever happens.

         Besides, I find it would be very unfair if he was held responsible for my own mistakes, since I’m perfectly capable of deciding what’s best for me. Well… sort of. Plus, if I survive the fall or whatever silly thing I might try, I don’t want to hear him complain about how I’m going to get him banned, because he’s already whining quite a lot. It’s uncannily annoying. Maybe he believes I might feel bad for my success in denouncing his crazy plans. Yeah, keep believing that.

         When he’s not here, I try to write. This might be my chance to finish some work I never had time to complete, some fiction I’ve been trying to create for a while. But I find that I’m too anxious, or bored, or obsessed about understanding what’s happening around me to work properly, and I only come up with short pieces about animals, spiders, snakes, crows. Most of them don’t make much sense, so I just store them away and ask for more paper.

         And now pen and paper have been lying in front of me for hours, and it’s the evening and I haven’t written a single word down today. I haven’t seen anyone either, it’s been three days since Loki last talked to me. I don’t even want to have a walk around; the stares make me uncomfortable, being ignored irritates me, and I tend to do stupid things when I’m in a bad mood.

         So I grab a bowl of grapes they’ve brought for me earlier today and walk out on the balcony. From there, I can try to aim at people’s heads, far below. Most of the time, I miss, but it keeps me busy for a while. A neat little story comes to my mind about what the grape is thinking as it falls, its hopes, its dreams, its disappointments about life, and I walk back inside to write it down, when someone knocks on the door. A visit, praise the Lord. Well… you know what I mean.

         I open the door on a very sullen-faced Loki who marches in, three servants carrying boxes following him. They proceed to open the boxes and arrange piles of books on the empty shelves around the room.

         “What’s all this?” I wonder out loud.

         “This is some reading material,” Loki says.

         “I can see that, thank you, but why?”

         “To keep you busy. It has occurred to us after observing you that you seem to encounter problems with staying idle.” He side glances at the grapes and smiles.

         “Er… thanks. I guess. Who is ‘us’?” He doesn’t answer and it angers me more than it should. “Hey, you’ve ignored me for the past three days; you could at least talk to me when you’re here!” He folds his arms and purposefully looks at the men still arranging books. Ok. That’s it, I feel the urge again, the urge to hit him until he consents to turn his head to me. And the servants, too, while I’m at it.

         But I know it wouldn’t help if I started randomly attacking my hosts, so I just smile and speak in a very soft voice. “Oh, I understand. You’ve been instructed not to speak too much. I think you’re right to do as you’re told; it’s safer for you.” It’s lame, and childish, and petty, I know that very well. And blatant, too, but that’s on purpose, I want him to notice what I’m trying to do.

         The angry frown he shoots at me is satisfactory enough for the moment, but I won’t give up on making him speak. I draw closer and start browsing the book titles; they’re in all sorts of languages, many I had never met before, and cover a range of subjects wide enough to last me at least a year if I want to study them thoroughly.

         At the very least, with all this in my room, I won’t have to go and face the stares that – wait a minute. Every time I get stared at is when I interrupt a conversation. They want me to stay inside all the time and they found out what might have done the trick, probably thanks to everything I’ve stupidly told Loki about me.

         I pinch my lips and turn to him. “All this reminds me of my place.” I sigh. “When will you send me back home? I promise I won’t try to die again.”

         He only grins back; he’s up to something, I can sense it, heavens, I can see it written all over his face. I walk to him and start tugging at his sleeve. He tenses up and recoils but I don’t care. “How longer before you send me home?” He slowly lowers his eyes to stare at my hand until I remove it, a little frightened by the passing shadow of raw anger on his face.

         Eventually, once the servants have finished unpacking the boxes and left us, he looks straight at me. I’m still afraid but don’t look away, I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I find it’s more difficult to hold such a cold gaze than I’d expected and he half-smiles. “You would better start reading immediately to distract your mind from the hope that you will ever leave this place alive.”

         I just stare back blankly. “You mean you can’t take me back?” I whisper.

         “I mean that nobody is allowed to travel anymore.”

         “But you weren’t allowed in the first place, why can’t you do it again, just once?”

         “I am most certainly not going to do that.”

         “Please…”     

         “Oh, now you’re begging! But it’s too late for that. _You_ do as you are told, for once: stay inside and read, especially this evening.” And he turns away to leave without another word. He doesn’t need to add anything, actually; the hint was clear enough. It wasn’t even a hint.

         I pace the darkening room, weighing up my options. I know he was just throwing bait at me, trying to lure me out of the room. If I stay here I obey the orders, and if I don’t I follow Loki’s intention. I just have to pick the decision that will cause me less harm. Easy-peasy, isn’t it? Someone, whoever makes decisions here, doesn’t want me to know about something; maybe they’ve sent Loki on purpose to make sure I would understand the hint and prove I’m unable to be a nice obedient guest.

         Or maybe they do not know about his coming here and warning me, and in that case I have no way to guess if it’s to help me or put me in trouble. Why would he help, anyway? Why would he want me to transgress the Allfather’s – I mean, his father’s decision? I realize I’ve been reduced a sheet of paper to shreds while I walked around. _Do as you are told, for once_ … The worst is that in both cases I’m doing what I was told, because this is Loki’s twisted way of giving me orders, I know it.

         By the time night has completely fallen, I’ve decided to screw it and try to find out what it is they’re hiding from me, never mind if I dive right into one of the well-named god of mischief’s traps. I can’t just sit here and read.

         So I sneak out of my room and try to be as silent as possible. I don’t think I actually succeed in doing so, but it hardly matters since the corridors are completely void of people. I wonder if Loki has anything to do with it, but I don’t get the opportunity to ponder that too long since I can already hear voices I recognize.

         At the far end of the hallway, a door has been left ajar and yellow light is seeping out on the shiny flooring. Of course it’s fishy, it reeks of trap, and yet I creep towards it ever so slowly to try to make out what’s happening. As far as I can tell, there are only three people in there, Loki, Thor and Odin. And they’re talking about… the mortal. That would be me. I barely refrain from bursting into the room and yell my name at them, but I want to know more.

         “Why are you so sure opening the new gateway again to send the woman back is too dangerous?” I hear Loki ask.

         “It attracted our enemies’ attention every time you conjured up the energy of the –” and then a word I don’t understand. What enemies are they talking about? “We have managed to create a protection, but they’ve probably understood we have the cube here, and if they attack now, we are doomed.” I really don’t like the sound of that.

         “We could lure them into tracking me and prepare to meet them in battle somewhere we have chosen.”

         The bark of laughter probably comes from Thor. “Of course you should suggest something of the sort.”

         There’s a long silence, something falls, I don’t know what’s happening but suddenly Odin’s voice booms in the room. “Loki, I command you to leave this room at once!” Oh shit. He’s going to walk out and see me, there’s nowhere to hide here; they will all see me and guess I’ve heard everything. Now is probably the time to start panicking. If I ever learn that we can time-travel here, I’ll warn past me never to leave the safety of my rooms.

         But nobody comes out through the door I’m standing next to. I had overlooked the possibility of there being other ways out. I call myself an idiot and strain to catch up on the whisperings now going on inside. “We can’t be certain he is gone, Father.”

         “Yes, we can. I’ve had more than enough of his disobeying my orders. But I believe he is too furious right now to stay quietly hidden somewhere. Particularly after my reaction to our… guest.”

         “I had a question about her; can you really send her back when all of this is over? She knows far too much.”

         “Do not believe I am not aware of this. The knowledge of our very existence was always limited to a small number of people, but after Loki’s attack the humans are growing curious, and I’m afraid she might spread the word. It would be too dangerous.”

         “So what are you going to do?” _Yes_ , I think, _I would really like to know what you’re going to do._

         “I think I will make Loki erase her memories before sending her back. It was his fault, he must repair the damage. Considering her past I should ask for a token of sincere repentance, but after everything Loki put her through, granting her a clean slate is the fairest solution.”

         My memories? _Oh, you’re not doing that. And I will not repent for anything!_

         Thor stays silent for a few seconds. “What about… keeping her?” he eventually asks.

         “I know where you’re going with this, and I can’t allow it. I do not like her and I’m afraid Loki might have decided to use her for a new scheme of his. I don’t know why he let her live.”

         “So you have no hope at all for him? Being in contact with humans helped me.”

         “Being with humans is the very thing that made him despise them. He even despises us. I don’t think I can indulge in having any hope for Loki.”

         “And yet he wants to help with the war. He understands he has caused it. Maybe we could give him another chance to prove –”

         Odin’s voice is growing strained as he interrupts his son. “I can’t. He could turn his back on us during battle and endanger all of us: he has to stay behind. I don’t trust him. I should never have trusted him in the first place.”

         They fall silent again, and I wait for a long time, but nothing else comes. I have to get back to my rooms. Now. Or I’ll end up getting killed and that would please Odin far too much.

 


	4. People like to brag

         I try to quiet the boiling anger inside me as I stumble my way through the palace, but I give up on being silent altogether.

         I’ve stopped seeing what’s surrounding me, but I freeze on the spot when I recognize the figure at the other end of the corridor. Of course he would be waiting for me. I’m so angry I start marching at him, ready to pour everything out no matter how violent he might become; but terrible strength pulls me aside and I can’t even shout because there’s a hand over my lips.

         My brain confusedly identifies the iron grip holding my arms against my body as Loki’s, yet I can still see him facing me. I give up understanding what’s going on when I hear, “I was wondering whether you’d come” whispered into my ear.

         Then the other green shape opposite us vanishes and I try to wrench free, but it isn’t worth the try so I concentrate on keeping up with his long strides and avoiding an embarrassing fall. I know we’re going back to my place, and I wish he’d realize I’m not stupid enough to start shouting, but he doesn’t release me. When we arrive he whispers again, “If anyone asks, you stayed here all night and I just visited to see how you liked the reading.” I nod frantically and only then does he let go.

         I back away, stumbling over my own feet. “Why did you have to do that?”

         “Is it really necessary that I answer this question?”

         I can’t stand his sarcastic smile right now. “Of course it is, you bastard!” My whole body is shaking from anger and frustration and fear. And worst of all, tears are now coming up to my eyes. Bloody hell, that always happens when I’m angry, I start crying; but I can’t allow it now, not in front of… of him.

         I take a few deep breaths to calm down. “Why did you want me to hear all this? How will you erase my memories, and don’t deny it, I know it will be you. What’s that war you were talking about? And how the hell can you be both in front of me and carrying me away?” That’s when my legs decide they won’t hold my weight anymore and I sink in the sofa.

         He’s still not answering, not even looking at me. He probably hates scenes like that, but I don’t care, and the scorn on his face when he turns his head to me is too much. I have to fiercely wipe away the new tears running down my cheeks as anger wins over all the other feelings inside. I try to sound threatening but since can hardly master my own voice half the words come out so high-pitched I doubt he can even hear them. “I… I am sure you can… answer my questions in only one... bloody sentence.” I dig my fingernails deep into my palms not to lose control; I can’t afford it.

         He sighs and I make myself stare at him, conjuring up all the anger I can into my eyes. As if that could work on him. “I have many… abilities that allow me to trick your mind,” he starts. “Again, no, I won’t teach you. The war we are preparing is none of your concern. I will not erase your memories, because the Allfather is the only one who has this power, even if he has always managed to keep it a secret.” Having confirmation that Odin is as sick a manipulator as any other delivered to me in such a calm and poised tone is somehow soothing. “And,” he concludes, “I wanted you to hear all of this so you have all the relevant information to decide what you’re going to do next.” He isn’t quick enough to conceal the grin appearing on his lips.

         _I have no idea what I’m going to do next_ , I want to reply, but instead I close my eyes and keep silent for a moment. Why is he here? Can they win the war? Is there anything else I need to know? It all whirls in my mind.

         I feel much calmer after a few deep breaths and my voice isn’t shaking anymore when I eventually decide what question I want to ask first. “The enemies,” I say softly. “They are after you, aren’t they?” He barely nods. “Has it got anything to do with my being here?”

         He’s staring down at the carpet now. “You certainly remember me complaining about the Allfather discovering and closing the concealed paths I favoured to travel from world to world.” Er… yeah. Maybe. If he says so. I somehow feel I should have paid more attention to what he was saying. “Since the Bridge was broken, there has been no connection between the realms. I could only transfer you thanks to a device, a power source my enemies believe is theirs; and they want it back.”

         I don’t want to hear I’m too stupid to understand so I don’t even bother asking what it is. “That’s why it’s forbidden to travel, then. Did you steal it from them?”

         “Not exactly; but I failed to fulfil my part of a bargain I had with them, and they are very, very resentful.”

         If I didn’t know who he was, I’d believe he’s afraid. “And stronger.”

         He looks at me, suddenly angry. “They are _not_! Everybody believes it, but I’m sure we can take them down easily. I could do it, but no one is ready to let me try.”

         I make my fingers crack. “If they are anything like the monsters you attacked us with, we have a little team that would be delighted to help you.”

         If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. “How do you even know about it?” he simply asks. “I remember Thor saying that your leaders had refused to let the population know about our existence.”

         “You and the Avengers were all over the news, and it was already far too late when they tried to cover it all up.” He doesn’t react. “And anyway, I happen to know someone who is friends with another who knew quite a lot of detail about what actually happened. Alien army, world domination, how you almost won, the whole thing. Secrets are barely secrets when you get people to brag about them.”

         He narrows his eyes. “How is it that most women from Earth I happen to meet and talk to turn out to be spies?”

         I chuckle at that. “I’m not a spy. Spies are paid to wrench information from people. I got paid to enhance people’s secrets.” I can tell he doesn’t understand. “I rewrote people’s lives,” I explain. “Prominent, powerful, wealthy people. I started with publishing war memoirs for veterans who couldn’t write, but I got bored and drifted off into more dangerous and more interesting spheres.” I’m not sure he’s listening, but I continue anyway. “I took the raw material of their lives, ugly, petty, honourable… everything, and transformed it into a story. Something with a purpose, because we humans can’t live if we don’t see the purpose of things.” I chuckle again. “That’s what they all wanted to hear; that every detail in their childhood was an omen of how great they were to become.”

         He draws a little closer and leans his back on the wall. “That doesn’t tell me how you came to know specifics about – my intervention.”

         Intervention… Maybe he’s the god of understatement, too. “As I said, people like to brag. Particularly to others they consider to be inferior beings…” I side-glance at him but he doesn’t seem to get the hint.

         He snorts. “You seduced a man to make him tell you.”

         I sigh impatiently. Why is it that everyone always jumps to that conclusion? “I didn’t even have to. I sat there next to a man I knew and waited for an older, more powerful woman to believe I was such a threat to her that she needed to assert her superiority. ‘I know of very secret agencies in the US that you’ve never dreamed of,’ I remember her saying. I just had to utter a polite ‘oh, really?’ and then there was no stopping her.” I can’t prevent the half-smile on my lips. “The rest was a piece of cake; with what she’d told me, I had enough material to make other people out-brag her, about your attack, about S.H.I.E.L.D., about a hundred things. I let her have the guy, though; she had tried so hard.” He arches a puzzled eyebrow at my conclusion. “But that’s none of your concern, I’m sure there isn’t a single trick I can describe that you don’t know already.” I’m feeling steady enough to get up and walk slowly around the room. “I answered your question, but I still don’t know why you wanted me to hear all of Odin’s plans directly. You could have simply told me.”

         “You wouldn’t have believed a single word of it.”

         I have to admit… “Point taken. But then it would have been my own mistake. I know there’s something else.”

         He doesn’t even try to deny it. “What did they say once I was gone?” he asks harshly.

         I stare at him in complete disbelief. _Really?_ I try to read the shadow on his face; is that what he looks like when he needs something from someone? I have to remember the exact configuration of his features so I’m able to recognize it anytime. It might come handy. He seems in pain actually, as if it had cost him a tremendous amount of energy to even ask. I almost feel sorry for him, if that was something I usually indulged in. “You… you weren’t there eavesdropping?”

         “I had something to… collect first, while I was sure I wouldn’t be disturbed. Plus, I wanted to be sure you really wanted to be a nuisance to the Allfather.” As if it was even possible, the look of pain on his face intensifies. “And in any case,” he whispers, “I want your opinion on the conversation.”

         I swear it, if he’d said ‘I would like’, I would have screamed ‘trap’. But maybe he is sincere, after all. I can’t go on being defiant all the time. Or maybe I should. I decide I’d better ask for something in exchange. At the very least, if he’s trying to trap me, he’ll have to work a little harder for it to work. “If I tell you, will you do me a favour?”

         Aaaaand pain is gone; welcome back to Loki’s face, contained rage! That’s more familiar. I’m almost relieved that the world is back to normal again, but then I remember where I am and that normal is a shifty concept.

         He narrows his eyes. “Do you really think you can ask a _favour_ from me?”

         I shrug. “I didn’t hear a thing, they started whispering after you left and I couldn’t make a single word out.”

         “I know that’s not true. You dare lie to me!” He starts advancing towards me, his threatening words cadenced by slow steps. I don’t move an inch and let him approach. “You have no idea what I could do to you. What tortures I could invent to make you speak.”

         Oh; I had overlooked that. Too late.

         His hands hover around my face and he must be craving to start strangling me again, struggling to keep control. But I don’t break eye-contact; he would like that far too much. “Nobody will recognize your face or your body once I’m finished with you, after you’ve been through pain.”

         I lift my chin up. “Bring. It. On,” I whisper. This is far too dangerous an answer, but somehow my brain isn’t in charge any more.

         His lips twitch; I can see blue-green murder in his eyes before he closes them. And yet he doesn’t touch me, joining his fingers over his lips in a steeple instead. He breathes deeply. “What do you want from me?” he eventually asks.

         Ooooh gods, yes. The thrill of having control over someone again sends an orgasmic shiver into my whole being. “I refuse to have my memories erased. And…” I have to find what else I really want, quickly, brain, please, you’re needed here! “If it’s possible, I want to know if my disappearance from Earth caused the chaos I expected.”

         He extends two fingers. As if I didn’t know how to count. How irritating. “That’s one demand too much.”

         “It’s a two-fold piece of information. There’s something about you and something else about me.”

         He shakes his head. “I’m not interested in what he had to say about you.”

         _And that’s a mistake_ , I think as I observe the expectation on his face. “Odin said he had been wrong to trust you and that he didn’t want you to help in the battle because he was afraid you might turn your back on them. That’s one. My opinion, since you asked for it, is that he refuses to give you a chance to redeem; maybe he fears it might be faked. I have no idea why,” I conclude.

         He ignores the sarcasm. “I will try to find a way to convince him to let you keep your memories.”

         I bow my head to acknowledge the effort. I don’t expect him to try very hard, but at the very least he said it. Not that saying changes anything. He clicks his tongue and heads for the door.

         _Now that’s rude…_ He got what he wanted, now he’s about to leave. He doesn’t even want to know what else I might have to say. I clear my throat. “Wait a minute. As far as I understood it, The Allfather doesn’t like me. He’s wondering why you let me live at all. I guess I’m too much of a nuisance even when I do nothing but sit in my room and read books.” Let’s hope he likes the story enough to consider my second demand.

         One second of hesitation later, he turns to me and smiles. “I cannot tell you whether you caused chaos on Earth or not; but I can take you there and we can see for ourselves.”

 


	5. Exponential trouble

        Ok, so I certainly hadn’t expected that. I wasn’t even hoping he’d actually answer me immediately, and now he’s standing there, with a wicked grin on his face, as if he had only suggested we should slip out and go party despite being grounded for the evening. “Isn’t that supposed to be dangerous? What if we get caught by your father? What if your enemies find us?”

         “Thor’s father,” he corrects me, “will not catch us. We’ll be back before morning so nobody will even notice we’re gone, and I’m quite sure they vastly overestimate the enemy’s intelligence.”

         “If this is just about proving something to Odin, why do you need me involved? You could as well go and see on your own.” The smirk disappears from his lips and he starts frowning. If only I could guess what is his ultimate intention for suggesting the visit. “On the other hand he _did_ piss me off with his decision to go all tabula rasa on me, and this could very well be a great opportunity to ease my frustration. Because I can’t really get back at him, can I? And yet I could get into lots of trouble.” I continue observing him, but I can see no hint of what’s on his mind. “But I don’t usually let that stop me; and I really, really want to know what’s happening down there.”

         He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Do you always talk that much? You could think in silence.”

         That should exasperate me; it makes me laugh instead. “Ha! I’ve been left here with no one to talk to except you, which was hardly talking since you never stopped complaining, and now you expect me to shut up? Dream on!”

         I realize I’ve stopped being careful of what might make him angry in what I say, and I wait for the obnoxious retort but nothing comes. I bite the inside of my cheek and sigh.

         “What now?” He seems on the brink of losing patience.

         “I’m trying to convince myself I don’t actually need to go and see.” He arches a sceptical eyebrow and it makes me smile. “Oh, don’t make that face; I know I’ve already made my decision.” I march towards him. “How are we getting there?”

         It all happens under a second; his hands move very fast, something appears, he crushes my wrist to make my fingers close over said something. And then the world goes black, then blue, then black again, and we’re standing in what used to be my flat. “What the… That was quick!”

         He flashes a satisfied smile at nothing in particular. “Yes, they just saw a little light. My way is much quieter than Thor’s.”

         “What’s Thor’s way? Whatever, don’t bother answering that.” I look around. “How did you know where to take us?”

         He stares at me as if I was a child missing the obvious. “That’s where I found you.”

         I can’t repress the shiver. “You were here when I was… dying? That’s wrong!” I shout.

         “It saved your life.”

         I consider him for a second. “You have a point here. But still; it’s wrong.” I can’t help wondering how dreadful I must have looked after all that alcohol and drugs.

         Then I stop caring, because I’ve realized something strange; the place has been cleaned up. There’s no trace of the pills I’d left lying there; the whisky I’d spilled seems to have been mopped up, and… My heart skips a beat. The laptop, the farewell note and the hard drive have vanished. I rush to the bedroom; half my clothes are gone. “For fuck’s sake!” I walk back to Loki. “It’s gone!”

         “What? The chaos?”

         _Is he a complete idiot?_ “No, the bloody thing that should have caused it! Somebody, Stuart’s wife probably, or her goons, or the police, have taken everything away and all that nice pile of shit I had dug into will never come out!”

         “I don’t understand a word of what you’re talking about. And you shouldn’t swear. It’s dreadful to hear these words coming from you.”

         My anger flares. “I swear if I want to! My final plan has failed; I had left a… storing device full of very sensitive information about all the people I ever worked with, all the info they always made sure would never go in the book. And I wanted the police or the press to find it, read it, and make good use of all the dirty secrets in it to cause massive trouble to all these assholes.” I let myself fall on the old sofa. “And the worst is that Janine’s family is probably making big money blackmailing everyone with my work. My bloody work!” I kick the coffee table down and he side-steps it carelessly. “I wouldn’t care if I was dead! But I’m not, and I can’t accept this. Do you hear me? If you had left me to die it wouldn’t be important!”

         “Don’t tell me it’s my fault, and yes, I heard you very well, everybody else in the building probably has; I would never have thought I needed to use shrouding _inside_ your private apartments.”

         I eye him from head to toe. “Well, you said it, this is my place, so I’m expected to be here. And I’m not the one wearing clothes that will most certainly take me straight to the high security wing of an institution if anybody calls the police.”

         He gives an exasperated sigh, but I think he gets the sense in what I’m saying, because after some strange glowing, he’s wearing almost normal clothes. I let my eyes scan him again. Well; it’s still pretty showy, but at the very least it’s less… weird, so he doesn’t look half as psycho. I have to confess I would’ve targeted him immediately if this had been a cocktail party; but it isn’t, I remind myself. This is a catastrophe, and my mind starts working immediately.

         “So there’s no chaos? No mayhem? No trouble?”

         I can tell he’s disappointed. “Not for the moment, anyway. I had a backup plan, but it’s not going to work either.” He frowns at me. “In case my hard drive got lost, I’d stored one at a friend of mine, a journalist. But if they can make my disappearance look like I’ve gone on a holiday without anyone wondering why the hell I’m not answering my phone anymore, they’ll probably scare the shit out of her so she will never want to walk out of her flat again. And I can’t do that to her.” I pause. “I have an idea, though. But even if we can narrow down our range of action to one neighbourhood where a reasonable number of these twats live, it will take all night. And people there know my face; we’ll need to find a way to walk around the streets unnoticed.”

         “That can be arranged, but I would like to know why.”

         I hear myself laugh, and I realize I sound like a madwoman. That’s not my usual voice, in any case. “Oh, but we’re going to mess with the lives of hundreds of people. You should like it!”

         “Hundreds? Are you sure? How is that even possible, you didn’t have that many clients…”

         “Ripples, my dear, ripples in the water.” I extend my arms. “Exponential trouble.”

         He still looks puzzled. “And how will you do that?”

         I grin at him. I’m so angry I can feel the warmth of rage in my throat. “I’m a woman of the twenty-first century. I’m going all passive-aggressive on them.”

         “What does that mean?”

         “It’s a polite way of calling people who generally refuse conflict and yet become devious bitches once they get going.” I tilt my head to the side and smile at him. “You should know what I’m talking about…”

         “I’m not a –” he grimaces at the words I make his repeat, “devious bitch! How dare you?”

         I sigh. “Oh yes, you are, but I’ll explain why later. Now I just need you to help me find ideas to make these suckers weep.” I’m pleased to see that despite the swearing, it makes him smile.

* * *

  

         This is the greatest night of my life. It’s even better than that summer solstice I spent in the countryside dancing naked around bonfires when I was seventeen. I had never thought petty revenge could be so satisfying, and yet somehow I should have guessed, since it regularly came up in my clients’ lives.

         We can’t trace up the hard drive and my laptop, there’s not time for that, but we sneak in the apartments of my former clients and leave creepy details about me having been here. Mostly my initials, actually, EVW written on the fridge with their children’s magnets, EVW scribbled on the notebook lying next to the telephone, EVW spelt in large black letters on the holiday pictures hanging in the living room.

         Then we visit my friend’s flat and I take the spare hard drive out, leaving it in the middle of her kitchen along with a list of people in the media who might protect her should she chose to go public. After that, it’s a contest; the winner is the one to come up with the strangest idea to make my former clients know that I’m still there and that they should have wondered why it was Janine and not me blackmailing them with the info they gave me.

         And now there’s a large bouquet of pink roses on that man’s front porch – the ones he used to get for me. The pair of deep red stilettoes this other one liked to see me wear when I came to interview him is now waiting for the morning on his wife’s dressing table. Also, letters signed by people this or that one has had killed, all with the same post-scriptum: Thank You, Eileen.

         Then Loki has the idea that will make all of them dance: leaving short notes saying ‘I know what you did; the Weaver told me.’ And the notes are in the names of their most dangerous rival in politics or in the media, depending on who we’re attacking.

         I’m having a tremendous amount of fun playing ghost in the houses. I just wish I could be there when they discover my little clues, but if I have to wait around everywhere, we’ll never have time to reach Stuart and Janine’s house. It’s already difficult enough for me walking in these places I used to visit regularly. It’s the middle of the night but most streets are still crowded, and despite Loki saying again and again that no one will even notice I’m here, I often find myself hurrying head down to our next destination only to have to walk back because he’s stayed behind to chat up a girl or two. And he doesn’t even pick cute ones to whisper in their ears.

         In the end, after I’ve managed to pull him away from three drunken skanks hanging outside a night club, I ask him, “Why do you keep doing that?” He shrugs. “I thought we weren’t worthy of your time,” I continue. “On the other hand, it’s not surprising you look down on humans, considering the specimen you talk to.”

         He glares at me. “I look down on them because they’re inferior creatures who should worship me.”

         “So that’s what you’re looking for? Admiration?” He doesn’t answer. “I’d hate to see you disappointed, but the look in those girls’ eyes wasn’t worship; they were calculating how much they could make you spend on jewellery if they played it well enough.” I can see the flash of puzzlement in his pupils and it makes me smile. “You really don’t know what humans are, do you? Well, you know they’re basically animals, but you haven’t a clue how to handle them. If we find a way not to get caught tonight, I might show you a thing or two, next time we come here.” _Or I could write down what I remember from my hard drive,_ I add to myself.

         But I’m pretty sure that would make him want to burn the whole planet down to ashes when he realizes… when he realizes he was always right about us. I force myself not to go down the nihilist train of thoughts I like to travel from time to time; now is not the moment.

         A glance at the pixelated time on a pharmacy’s sign tells me it’s already half past five; if I want to make Stuart and Janine’s existence a living hell, we have to hurry before they get up. Theirs is the only house in the suburbs that I absolutely need to visit, and these politicians wake up early; I’ve learnt it the hard way. There are sleek black cabs waiting in line next to a hotel. “Is it safe to get a taxi there?” He nods, but I’m not sure. What if there was an investigation and the driver described us travelling to a MP’s house?

         Eventually, Loki sighs impatiently and opens the door to the car parked at the head of the line, gesturing me to climb in. I dive in, but back away in a panic when I recognize the driver; I can’t remember his name, but he’s already driven me around at night several times, from pub to restaurant to club, there’s no way he won’t put things together when he sees Stu’s house on the news tomorrow. Of all the cabs in London, we had to pick this one.

         I slam into Loki, who hadn’t noticed my retreat and was ready to get inside the car. “What are you doing?” he scowls.

         “The cabbie; he knows me,” I whisper. “We can’t use this car, he will remember me!”

         He rolls his eyes up to the night sky. “No, he will not remember you. Get inside that vehicle at once!” I shake my head frantically. It’s too dangerous, I won’t risk it. “I’m telling you that he won’t even remember driving you tonight,” Loki explains. “You can trust me on this one.”

         I freeze, my whole being rebelling against the very idea, but he’s already pushing me inside the warmed up car and the next second the door slams, he’s sitting next to me and I hear myself mouthing Stuart’s address.

         The driver answers, “Yes, madam,” and swerves out of his parking space without another word. He glances at my reflection in the inside mirror but his gaze stays blank; the dreaded light of recognition never appears, and when I smile shyly he nods before transferring his attention back on the road.

         I can feel the tension leaving my body and I sit back. I don’t turn to Loki, I know he has that satisfied grin on his face, the one that means, “I’ve proved you wrong and will never let you forget about it,” so I stare out of the window at the streetlights. But soon the window pane is fogged up and I can’t help stealing glances at the blurred images inside it. My face; Loki’s profile. His eyes are fixated on something straight in front of him, but it’s probably not important.

         I find myself wondering what he’s thinking about; if it’s difficult for him to keep both of us shrouded in anonymity; if what we’re doing now is part of one of his plans; if he’s imagining what being a mortal is like. I doubt it’s the latter, but you never know, maybe it’s his greatest fear. Being like all the others, with nothing to mark him out from the crowd. It’s probably fine for a few hours, as it is tonight; it’s safer, but I bet he’d prefer people to run away screaming in fear when we walk in somewhere. Memories of the footage where he commands people to kneel before him come up to my mind and despite myself I realize I would like to give it a try; that after all what I’m doing tonight is going to make all these powerful people fear me. And… I like it. 

         I shiver and ask the driver if we can have more heating. We can’t; it will steam the windows even more and it’s dangerous. I don’t answer and huddle in my seat; the ride won’t take very long now.      

         None of us say another word until we get to the suburban house where I’m going to pull my last prank on humans. The lawn is so tidy it looks unreal; actually, everything looks unreal here. But then it’s maybe due to the grey light of early dawn. I don’t think we pay for the cab; and to be honest, I’ve stopped caring. If I ever come back for good I’ll tip him – Elias, that’s it, that’s his name, why couldn’t I remember it earlier? If I ever come back for good I’ll tip Elias twice.

         We walk up to the door. There’s only silence to greet us inside the house. This house I knew so well.

         “We have to be quick about it,” Loki says.

         I turn to him and try to smile; I fail. “I won’t need you here.”

         “You don’t want an idea? I had some interesting suggestions.”

         “I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve always known.” He shrugs and walks out, leaving me alone.

         I stare at all the things here, the paintings, the framed photographs, the mug with a rest of cold tea on the kitchen counter, and understand that my original mistake was allowing myself to think I could tear Stuart from all this. His wife, his children, his career; his whole life was too important for him, more important than the cheeky writer he banged from time to time when he got bored with talking about himself. I shake myself out of bitterness and steal up the stairs to the largest bedroom.

         I really hope Loki will conceal me even if he’s standing in the garden. I should have asked him. Too late. But I don’t wake any of them as I open drawers and shuffle through underwear, jewellery, everything, until I find what I knew was there somewhere. My fingers close around a handful of small plastic pouches. Cocaine. I smile. I have to. I creep up towards the bed; Janine is buried under the duvet and Stu has fallen asleep reading… reading what? An annotated speech of some sort. It looks important. “Sorry, Stu,” I whisper as I sprinkle some dope all over the bed. “You shouldn’t have let your dear Janine know about me.”

         I walk out of the bedroom and cover the other rooms in a hurry. I leave a couple of pouches in their little daughter’s schoolbag. The teacher’s face will be priceless. I leave some more in the different dustbins I find, in the study, in the kitchen, in the bathroom. The cleaning lady will have to find at least one of them. I still have enough to drop some on the stairs. Yes, they do a lot of coke, in between the two of them. I perfect the whole setting by taking a red crayon from the kid’s playing room and scribbling “lots of love from Eileen” on the white couch. That should be enough, and it will be morning soon; suddenly I hear an alarm clock going off upstairs, then it stops. I freeze in the middle of the living room, waiting for more. There's swearing; Stuart’s voice first, then Janine’s, then he’s hushing her up, “you’ll wake Annie!”

         I realize I’m still stupidly standing there so I make myself move and run out. I nod at Loki. “They just got up and saw the mess, we have to go.”

         He grins. “Yes, when I understood what you were doing, I stole inside to make the alarm wake them earlier so you would have their first reaction.” I look up at him. I’m confused; I never heard him. He shrugs. “I found it would be a little more entertaining.” He frowns and points at my chest. “You have red smudges on your clothes.”

         I stare down at my skirt; he’s right. I try to say something, but I can’t speak, suddenly realizing I’ve just put cocaine in a girl’s schoolbag, and I start shaking all over. Loki doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing. “In any case, it’s high time we went back,” he’s saying. “Get nearer, quick; I can’t hide us at the same time.”

         I can tell I won’t hold the panic much longer so I turn to him and try to walk, but my legs won’t obey and I stay rooted to the spot. His hands are already doing that little dance they did before he took us here and I know that if I don’t get near him, he will be gone the next minute and I will be stuck here. Half my brain has already given up and I’m prepared to face the consequences of my incredibly stupid decisions. Never mind, it was fun while it lasted.

 


	6. I can tell stories

      

         Several things happen at the same time. I hear a window bang open somewhere behind me; I see a frown on Loki’s face; my name is being shouted out loud; I’m still utterly unable to move; and then I feel an arm around my waist, cutting my breath short. The world goes black – blue – black.

         And we’re back in my large, airy living room, far from Stu’s garden, how far exactly I don’t know, I don’t even want to know, I’m not sure I would be able to picture it anyway. I realize my legs aren’t carrying me anymore and I cling to Loki, who’s keeping me on my feet. “What happened to you?” he’s asking. His hand is crushing my ribs as he half carries me towards the wall and leans my back against it.

         When he lets go of me I slump to the ground like the pathetic wreck I am. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

         He’s already at the other end of the room, as far from me as possible, pacing in front of the shelf. “You could have simply told me that you wanted them to see you instead of waiting, I was almost gone! It was far too dangerous; you would have been left there alone, unconcealed, in plain view.” He shakes his head. “I would _not_ have come back for you.”

         I can’t explain I was having… what was it, anyway? A panic attack? I was just frozen there. “I… I’m sorry,” I say again. What’s wrong with me? I give myself a slap to calm down. It usually works.

         “What are you doing?”

         I take in a couple of deep breaths. “Nothing; I’m an idiot.”

         “Yes, you’ve already proven that many a time.”

         “No, that’s not what I mean.” I swallow and rest my head on the wall. I’m feeling calmer now, as the certitude that I’m safe again gradually makes way inside my brain. “I shouldn’t have done all this; it was reckless and stupid.”

         He frowns at me. “You should have thought about that earlier.”

         “I know; but it was a mistake. A terrible mistake.” I fail at pushing away from my memory all the messages I’ve left behind, and I can feel tears clogging my eyes; I try to hold them back by looking at the ceiling. By some miracle I can’t explain, it works. “So many are going to be in trouble because of me. And their families, their children. Their employees will lose their jobs. I’m a horrible person, hurting these innocent people just to get back at a handful of jerks.” I dart what I hope is a reproachful look at him, but I fear there’s just pain and panic in my eyes right now. “Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

         Genuine surprise appears on his features as he answers, “You’re not making sense. You could have said no; you _asked_ for my help!”

         “It was wrong of you to help me.”

         He really doesn’t seem to understand what I’m talking about. “I thought you wanted to be a nuisance. Besides, I think you enjoyed doing it.” I can feel anger winding up in his tone.

         “I did; but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t wrong. It just shows I’m fucked up.” He winces at the words and I almost apologize for swearing. What the actual hell is happening to me? “I’m feeling guilty, Loki!” I realize too late I’ve used his name, whereas I’ve always been careful to avoid addressing him altogether. But he doesn’t seem to care.

         “Guilt makes people weak. It’s ridiculous,” he simply states.

         “No, it isn’t. It’s normal for anyone who isn’t morally impaired. But I don’t expect you to understand how I’m feeling right now.”

         He shakes his head in disbelief. “You were more amusing earlier, when we were deciding which was the best idea to… make these suckers weep, as you said.”

         Something inside me laughs as he quotes my own words, but I silence it hastily. “Oh, please do shut up! I wasn’t… amusing, I was angry.” I press my palms to my eyes as I realize he used my anger to manipulate me into going to Earth. “And I make terrible decisions when I’m angry; you’ve already noticed that, haven’t you?”

         Understanding I was only a pawn in his game both vexes me and quiets my doubts. It wasn’t my fault, it was Loki’s. This is easier to accept than acknowledging I most certainly have serious issues with vengeance and resentment. Still, I can’t completely forget the fact that I willingly walked into his trap. I should have known. I hear footsteps and lift my face from my hands; he’s walking towards me.

         He leans the small of his back against the sofa, eyeing me calmly. “Tell me, Eileen Weaver, why were you angry at these people?”

         I don’t understand why he’s asking the question but there’s no valid reason I shouldn’t answer him. “I was angry because… because they didn’t know I had their secrets. That I could threaten them with their own confessions.” I’m not even sure it’s the real reason. It has to be among the many reasons, anyway.

         “They had forgotten they had ever talked to you. They were relieved that you had disappeared without another word.”

         I smile despite myself. “I bet they were. I had heard secret shames they barely dared confess to themselves. Do you understand now why I can’t have my memories erased? It would be too convenient for them.”

         He folds his arms and smiles. “You had to remind them of who you were, of what you could do to them even as they believed you had lost all of your power.”

         “Yes, I had to. And now you’re going to stop this immediately because I know exactly what you’re trying to do, even if I have absolutely no idea why you’re doing it.” _I’d really want to know, though_. “You won’t make me angry again.”

         He laughs quietly. “All right. But admit it: you’re not feeling guilty now.”

         He’s right. I’ve stopped shaking altogether and I don’t want to cry anymore. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing, though.”

         “They deserved your revenge. They had hurt you and they had to pay, even if only for rejoicing at your demise.”

         I consider his point of view for a second; his words are pleasing to hear, in an eerie, perverted way. Thankfully, moral education kicks in. “Resentment isn’t a proper motive for action.”

         “Guilt can be as bad an adviser as anger.”

         I straighten my back, trying not to look as weak and pathetic. “If something drives you to murder, it’s not a good feeling. You rarely kill someone out of guilt.”

         “But you can kill yourself because of that.”

         _What?_ “I… I’m not sure if you’re saying this because of what I did before you found me.” He nods. “Then let me tell you; I didn’t commit – well, attempt suicide out of guilt.”

         “Then why?”

         _Is he really asking me that?_ I narrow my eyes, trying to read the expression on his face and he holds my gaze, unblinking. I wonder what will happen if I simply refuse to answer; it’s quite personal a thing to talk about, and I’m too ashamed of myself to even acknowledge the truth, most of the time. Besides, even if I decide to speak, I can’t trust him, he’s probably going to use it against me. I have to find a plausible lie. And I know the best lies always have a tad of truth in them.

         “You can tell me,” he insists.

         The thrill and danger of lying to _him_ again make my heart beat faster. “The reason was even more stupid. I was… I was vexed. I had lost the game I thought I was the best at and I couldn’t face failure. I couldn’t acknowledge that I had been outwitted, that I had been weak enough to let myself be caught in a stupid trap. Because that’s what it was, I’m almost sure now, Janine’s family used Stuart as bait to make me fall. I had probably annoyed one person too much; I had become too dangerous. You see, I wasn’t controversial, but I was becoming influential.”

         He observes me silently as I struggle to scramble back to my feet, and when I give up trying, accepting I will have to stay on the floor, he walks to me and extends his hand. I shoot him a defiant glare before taking it and pulling myself up; his grip over my wrist hurts. His other hand settles under my elbow to help me regain balance.

         That’s when I realize I _want_ to tell him the truth. He’s probably the only one I’ll ever confess it to.

         “Actually, no, forget what I said,” I mutter, my eyes fixated on his boots. “Even that version of the story is giving me too much credit. I was stupid enough, proud enough to think my friends would protect me from the mob. I felt invincible. I wasn’t. And that’s also why I had to make them pay, you know. Because I had kept their secrets; I had kept to my side of the bargain, and when I needed protection they didn’t step up. They let me down.”

         I jerk my head up and stare straight at him. I made mistakes, let’s at the very least make them up to the end, and that includes letting an unreliable, lethal, insane alien who thinks himself a god know of my deepest shame. Why the hell not, after all?

         “I played; I lost. It hurt my pride; my ego was down the sewer. I couldn’t live with the shame of hearing people say I _used_ to be great. I had to die, and I had to make them regret ever hurting me. A French president once said, ‘let chaos thrive after my death.’ That’s exactly what’s happening.” I realize my breath is shorter and I’m feverish. There’s also euphoria spreading inside me, for some reason. Probably serotonin eventually kicking in after the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been riding all night. Plus, I haven’t slept for more than a day. “Any other question you’d like to ask while I’m in the mood for confession?”

         I can see the ghost of a smile flicker on his lips but I refuse to start wondering what strange calculation is building up inside his mind. “How did you get all these people to tell you their secrets?”

         “I already explained; I made them talk.”

         “I heard that. I want to know why they were stupid enough to talk to you in the first place. They could have just told you about the elements they wanted in the books and keep the rest to themselves.”

         I think he’s just trying to make me say more so he can detect if I’m trying my little techniques on him or on others here. But I don’t believe I’ll ever get the chance to try, and I’m most likely never going back to my old job anyway, so why not tell him? He might even be appreciative.

         “I didn’t just write books about them. I re-created their entire lives. Everybody wanted me to do their bios because I had made my special feature of turning the worst details around and make them look less horrible.” I walk towards the balcony and hug myself. “Because you know, you can make the public condone any action, and I really mean any, if there’s a morally acceptable outcome to it. And once you know how to do it, you can make everything look morally acceptable.”

         _Well, maybe not everything,_ I add to myself, _but far too many for our own good_. I pause for a moment, waiting for a question, a remark that doesn’t come. So I continue speaking to the rising sun. “The war killed hundreds of soldiers and cost billions of pounds? Well, it was to save thousands of citizens from starvation. Lord Whatsit blackmailed Lady Thingy and made her resign? Yes, it’s far from being nice, but on the other hand, she _was_ guilty of embezzlement, so in the end it’s not that bad. These are bland examples, but I’m sure you understand how subtle it can get. I loved it.”

         I hear Loki drawing closer behind me but I don’t want to look at him. “Most of my detractors said my work was a web of lies, but I think they were just secretly dreaming they could commit half the deeds in my books and walk out of it unharmed.” I sigh deeply. “You know, people down there don’t need to be freed from freedom, as you so wittingly said after you captured me. We manage enslaving one another quite well without your help.”

          “Why did you choose to do that?” I think he pointedly avoids picking up on my last words.

         I shrug. “I can tell stories. That’s what I’m good at. It was interesting and I managed to make it pay well. And I soon got used to living in wealth.”

         “There had to be more to it.” His voice tells me he’s getting closer. “Something else.”

         _How does he know?_ Or maybe he doesn’t know, and he’s just trying to make me talk. But why would he do that? Perhaps I should stop talking right now. But somehow I can’t; I’ve gone too far anyway.

         “You were the one to say it earlier; I had power over them. I revelled in hearing them whisper, ‘that doesn’t go in the book’ after confessing some dark spot in their past. And the best… Do you want to know what the best part was?”

         This time I turn to him and stare straight into his eyes. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t nod; he’s just listening, intensely waiting for me to speak.

         “The best was that look in their eyes, men and women, TV stars and politicians, young or old, good or bad, they all had the same light, the same expression when I found the perfect way of cleansing them from guilt, when I found the exact justification for their mistakes. And I re-read the passage out loud, and they beamed, or smiled smugly, or simply nodded, but the shadow was there, I could still recognize it anywhere. And they whispered, ‘Yes, that’s it, that’s what nobody ever understood.’ And I could tell I had won them over because in an instant I had made them forget how petty and mean and… human they were. At that moment, they had replaced their truth by _my_ lies and they had already started believing it, believing that’s how it had all happened.”

         Remembering how powerful I was at the time makes me more daring, and I walk closer to him to whisper, “And do you know how I felt?” I look up at his pale face; he pinches his lips, shaking his head. “I felt like a god. By the sheer power of my words, I had forgiven them.”

         _I’m feeling like a god right now_ , I think, but I won’t say it out loud. He won’t like it if I start saying I’m his equal. There’s a short silence as I see his eyes reading my face. “I forgave them, and then they forgave themselves their mistakes, because I made them feel better about their past. I made them believe the world needed them despite all the horrors they were responsible for.”

         There’s more silence while he scans every detail of me. I’m close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, see how drawn and tired his face is, and for the first time it isn’t because he’s attacking me. I understand I’ve stopped being afraid and I resist the impulse to try and touch him; somehow I know he would hate that.

         “Yes,” he utters sombrely. “Humans like to feel great and needed despite the horrors they have caused and the mistakes they made.”

         I suppose it’s an appropriate time to insert a smug chuckle. “That’s how you lost, last time, isn’t it? Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. With all due respect to a god of lies, you made two mistakes.”

         He arches an eyebrow, but I overlook the warning in his eye. “Well, first of all you were too blatantly evil. Nobody would have sided for you of his own free will. A little more subtlety to your personae would have helped; something more complex, more… ambivalent. Second, you were too proud. You thought you were the only one who knew how to manipulate others. Wrong. Your brother is supposed to protect Earth, right?” He nods. “Let me tell you one thing: as far as my knowledge of people goes, half our nature takes from him and the other takes from you; that’s not good news for humankind.”

         I see his jaw clench harder; there’s hatred in the sharp snapping his teeth make. “And now I’ll just stop talking because there’s no way you don’t want to choke me again after all that.” I smile.

         But apparently he didn’t hear my last joke. “Too blatantly evil,” he echoes. “More ambivalent… Maybe I should have explained why I deserve to own your small, petty world more than my so-called brother ever did. But somehow I doubt the wish to prove that I am better than him would be an appropriate purpose.”

         I can see the bitterness of failure all over his face and it looks painful, very painful. He’s staring at some spot far above my head as he continues. “I told you of how I lost domination over Asgard. I found it too difficult to face failure, you know, just like you did, and as I hung suspended above the void, my life depending on Thor’s… mercy, I opened my hand and let myself fall. I would rather have died than have to thank him for saving me,” he spits out. “But instead of dying I was given more power; I had no other choice than using it to regain my place here. And I failed again. Perhaps the Allfather was right; nothing I can do will be enough.”

         _It has nothing to do with what you deserve, Loki,_ I want to explain. But I don’t dare interrupt him. Some part of me wonders how many times he’s delivered the ‘identity crisis’ line to women, or people on general, and whether it usually works or not. I start when he looks down at me and his stare hurts. “Tell me, clever weaver, how would you spin this yarn and make it appealing without having me appear as a madman or a whiny child? What would the morally acceptable outcome be for someone who tried to enslave mankind to get back at his family?” His hands are slightly shaking and he looks down at them, wincing. “Tell me!” he says again, his voice strained by anger.

         My brain had shortly stalled at the words ‘clever weaver’, but I process the rest of the request. I still have to blink repeatedly to stop staring at his face and utter a comprehensible answer. “That’s a challenge you’re giving me. You’re supposed to be a being of superior conscience and intelligence, far above considerations such as jealousy or pride. And yet, everything I’ve seen of you, and of the other people here, is so close to human behaviours I guess I could find something. But I’ll need time.”

         I pause to consider him. I can tell he’s regaining the grip on himself, the control he lost for half a minute as he was talking to me. “Yes,” I continue, “to start with, I would say you wanted to prove your worth but didn’t know how to.”

         He doesn’t answer immediately. “A mistake; saying it was a mistake. That’s… crude and basic.”

         He looks up at me again and I know he’s going to make me pay for seeing him in that state, for hearing his secrets. Yet deep under the lid that usually keeps my fluctuating sense of self in check, I’m quite proud of myself: somehow, I succeeded in making him tell me these very secrets. I might die because of that, but as final performances stand, making the god of deceit open up is probably rated pretty high. And if I survive, well… I’ll have to take everything I’ve heard into account from now on, even if I’m sure he will never, ever mention it again. It doesn’t change everything, but it changes enough.

         He’s still coldly looking at me, and I’m waiting for the blow. I wonder what he’ll come up with. “Perhaps it isn’t surprising that you were outwitted by these people who made you fall. You’re not _that_ good.” The scorn in his tone sounds a little artificial, but it still hurts my feelings.

         I’m about to snap something back, about him being poor material anyway, which I know isn’t true, but whatever, he shouldn’t have tried to irritate me, when the door bursts open. We turn around and stare as five guards march inside, pointing their – whatever weapons at us. Loki swiftly grabs my shoulders and swings me in front of him.

         “You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you?” I hiss, but he doesn’t answer and keeps me firmly in place, his fingers sinking into my arms.

         A guard speaks. “The Allfather has summoned both of you to the throne room immediately. Follow us.”

 


	7. Thank you for your concern

         None of the guards answer Loki’s many questions about the reason we are being treated this way. It’s unnerving and I almost yell at him to shut up because we both know very well why we’re marched in the corridors like prisoners, but I keep silent. I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this situation. I hope he has an idea. Any idea. But I guess if he has one, it will only save his own life, not mine. When we arrive at the room where the Allfather has his High Seat, there’s a small crowd of people waiting for us, and this isn’t a good sign; it’s far too early for this to be a friendly gathering. I steal a glance to my right and see Loki’s expression turn hard and angry as his eyes sweep the faces around us and stop on Thor. I notice I’ve clenched my teeth too; I really don’t like it here, I don’t like the stares, I don’t like the whispers, I don’t like the way the guard is tightly holding me, impeding my movements, and above all I don’t like the fury in Odin’s eye. I swallow nervously as I’m taken to the side and Loki stands there, facing the one he doesn’t know whether to call father or not.

         He shrugs the guard’s hands from his shoulders impatiently. “What is the meaning of this? Why am I treated like a prisoner? Why is this woman,” he points at me, “our guest, considered no better than a common offender?” The uncanny hilarity I had already experienced in a similar situation starts swelling inside me as the god of lies’ armour appears on him. I guess he means to look powerful again. I repress laughter immediately and try to adopt an air of haughty indifference, as if I was too proud anyway to be offended. I doubt it works. “This,” Loki continues, “is the basest breach of hospitality rules I have –”

         “Silence!” Odin’s tone cuts his son’s protest short and a heavy sense of expectation falls onto everyone. The king slowly walks down the few steps towards Loki. “How dare you try to shame me after what you have done? I had forbidden anyone to travel, and the first thing you do is to overlook everything I’ve said to satisfy an inexplicable craving to visit Earth. And you take the mortal with you.” I pinch my lips but I really don’t want to remind him of my name right now. “What was that new scheme of yours? Maybe you hoped you would get caught, that your enemies would find you and it would make me rush the attack to come and save you, since you had taken the poor, defenceless human along. But you were mistaken, Loki. I would not have come to rescue you, or even her.”

         _Well_ , I think, _I had guessed you didn’t like me, but I had no idea you would let me die…_

         “But we came back,” Loki starts pleading, “we didn’t get caught. I will not let you accuse me of –”

         “I am not finished! The mere fact that you threatened our guest’s life by using the Cube is too much. Did you really believe I would not keep you under Heimdall’s surveillance? You disobeyed my orders to attack humans again! Haven’t you had enough last time?”

         Loki’s eyes open wide. _Uh-oh_. He’s getting blamed because of me. That’s it, I’m lost; he’s going to accuse me. “I did not attack –”

         “Will you stop interrupting me? I had warned you; you took the risk of disobeying me and this time I will not forgive your behaviour.”

         I’m not sure whether the fear on Loki’s face is faked, but it’s intense. I dart my eyes to Thor, hoping he will interfere, do something, anything. But he’s not even looking at Loki, as if he knew there was nothing he could do. I squirm uncomfortably and the guard’s fingers close tighter around my right arm. It sends a shot of red anger down my spine; I feel myself slowly turn to the armoured man and my hand seizes his wrist to pull it away. He’s surprised; tries to resist, but apparently I’m far stronger than what I used to be, stronger than he is, or maybe it’s the rage my blood is pumping all over my body. Under his astonished eyes I make him release me. At the same time, I’m still listening to the quarrel happening in the middle of the room. “Please, let me explain, it was just to –”

         “Stop this, Loki. I will not listen to your excuses and explanations. They were never true. You wasted your last chance: I’m casting you out, and there will be no coming back for you.” _I’m not staying here if he’s gone_ , I think. I can glimpse the other guards puzzling at why I’m suddenly free to start walking away. “You will be bound forever in a prison of flesh, unable to reach for Asgard again, unable to use your powers.” Shocked whispers creep up to the ceiling.

         “No! Please, Father!” The guards seize Loki; he tries to wrench free but fails.

         Odin’s voice booms in the hall. “Do not call me your father.” Loki is suddenly very still and quiet.

         I, on the other hand, am steadily getting angrier and angrier. _Ok_ ; _that sentence of yours just entitled me to mess with everyone here. No-one, god or no god, brings that look to the face of someone who saved my life. Even if he didn’t do it on purpose._ I have a short-lived moment of hesitation as I wonder what part of me would ever react like that. But then, nobody has saved my life before, so how could I know?

         “Wait!” I call out. One guard tries to stop me from walking to the centre of the hall but I duck under his arm and slip away. “Listen to me,” I say loudly. All the faces turn to me but I don’t retreat, I don’t stop, and I don’t take my eyes off Odin’s. He’s the one who has to listen, and I know I’d better start explaining while he’s still so surprised he can’t speak. “It was my fault if we went to Earth tonight.” I continue walking deliberately slowly until I’ve reached the exact spot in between the two men. I have no idea what I look like but I keep my back very straight and my head high, hoping it makes me appear as stately in their eyes as it did in the mortals’.

         The king of Asgard directs his eye to Loki. “Whatever it is you are doing to this poor woman to make her take the blame, I command you to stop immediately and –”

         “The poor woman is stupid enough to make her own bad decisions without any of you deities helping, but thank you for your concern.” Odin looks back at me, unable to believe I just interrupted him; I know perfectly well I should be terrified but I won’t lower my eyes. Oh, no I won’t.

         I’m good enough to pull this off. I fold my hands over each other and plant my feet firmly in the ground. I can totally get both of us out of this mess.

         Holy shit, if I do, Loki will owe me so big I will never need protection from the government again. And he’ll probably kill me to get rid of the debt, but never mind. “I am terribly sorry for all the trouble I have caused since I arrived here.” I’m surprised my voice sounds so poised and calm. Well, I’m not complaining, it’s better this way, I can play the hesitation notes better if I don’t have to take unwanted quivering into account.

         “The… this evening, as I was leafing through the volumes you so generously gave me, Loki walked in and enquired whether I was satisfied with the provided entertainment.” Where the hell does all this come from? “I thanked him for the attention you bestowed on me.” _Don’t overdo the flattery,_ I tell myself. “But I couldn’t prevent it, I had to ask him how long it would take before I could be sent back home.”

         I hear somebody snicker, but whoever that is, Thor silences them with an impatient wave.

         I take a deep breath before continuing. “He explained he couldn’t tell me, reminded me that you had forbidden any travel for the moment. But I couldn’t accept it. I… I wondered if he could just give me news of my friends, my family. He refused, I swear he did.” And this would be me lying openly to a god again. What’s wrong with you, Eileen Weaver? “And yet, I knew how I could convince him. I had listened to him talk, you see, and I… I’m sorry, but I tried to manipulate him into taking me back to Earth by threatening to kill myself again if he didn’t. And it worked.”

         I pause and relish the strained silence that follows my words. I’d die to catch a glimpse of Loki’s face but I can’t afford breaking eye-contact with his father right now. “I knew what would happen if I was hurt, I remembered your threat, and…” I make my voice catch in my throat and conjure up discreet tears. I’m actually enjoying this very much. Despite the probability of me being destroyed on the spot, of course. “I wanted to see my world again. You were right, Allfather, right from the beginning; of course you were. I regret attempting suicide, now that I’m far from everyone I loved I miss my old life so, so much. So I lied, I lied shamelessly, and convinced Loki to take me back so I could see what had happened of my friends, and also of my enemies, because I wanted to make them pay. I swore we would only stay for a few hours, and that was a lie too, because I intended to stay behind when he left. He still refused, but had to cave in when I reminded him that if he didn’t, I’d kill myself and he’d be cast out. You had said so.”

         And that’s the most dangerous moment; I just pointed out Odin’s commands were contradictory, that there was a loophole. But the very fact that it was me who took advantage of it should do the trick. I hope. “Please, don’t blame Loki; blame me. Blame my weakness; blame my arrogance.” I pause for a second. “Blame my humanity.” I don’t move my eyes yet but shrink a little, trying to look more humble. If I wasn’t where I am, I’d start praying.

         Silence stretches out for what seems to be ages. Nobody moves, nobody talks, I wonder if they dare breathe. Do they even need to? The question pops inside my mind out of nowhere. _What the hell, brain?_ I try to stay completely still, wishing I had an eye at the back of my head to see Loki’s reaction. I can very well see Thor beaming, though. I wonder why all this makes him so happy, and above all how I’ll use that later.

         “Well,” Odin starts. I hope the slight frown means he hasn’t made an irrevocable decision about me. Or that it’s the first time anyone ever took the blame for Loki and that the event in itself is enough to start everything anew. Or that… whatever. As long as it doesn’t mean it’s the first time someone dares challenge him so openly. I don’t know how I manage to wait for the rest of the sentence. “I think I understand what happened last night,” he continues.

         _I hope you never do_ , I think. _And now I hope you can’t read my mind_. I try to silence my own thoughts.

         “Eileen Weaver. I know you never wished to come here, but you were a guest. And yet you endangered us all, you wanted to disobey me and induced one of us into helping you.”

         I know I’ve won half the battle. It has become the gods against the insolent human, and he’s momentarily forgotten his anger at Loki. The rest, making the powerful man overlook my irreverence, is routine. I basically did that for a living, I guess I can do it for survival. “I know,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” That’s when I lower my head. “Will you forgive me for trying to get back at the ones who drove me to despair?” I keep my eyes down for a couple of seconds before looking up at the king again, lifting my head ever so slowly. I have to hold back the urge to perform a victory dance when I see the faint smile on his lips.

         “I forgive you, Eileen Weaver, and I forgive Loki for trying to help. You are both free again.”

         “Thank you.” There’s nothing more to say.

         “But don’t think you will have another opportunity like this one. You are now under constant surveillance. No more visits to Earth, be it for friends or enemies. Is that clear?” I nod without a sound and wait for him to dismiss us.

         When he does, I slip away as fast as possible to avoid talking to anyone. Loki seems to have fled already but I know for a fact that I won’t have to wait very long to see him reappear again. I’m halfway down the corridor when something whirls me around. He’s pinning me to the wall, his left arm across my chest and I can feel his right hand pressing something sharp and pointy into my side. Strangely enough, my only thought is, _oh, no, not a knife again_ , and I sigh.

         “Why did you tell all these lies?” I’ve never seen him so angry.

         I purse my lips and shake my head. “You’re hurting me,” I answer. Did he just ease his grip a little? Oh my, I believe he did. “I thought you might find it appropriate to thank me for what I did,” I snap.

         “Thank you? Why would I do that? You made me look weak! You said you had manipulated me. _Me_!”

         I look into his eyes. “I made you look complex and ambivalent. None of the people in there expected to hear what I told them, but they liked it. More importantly, your father liked it _and_ believed it. I don’t know if you were planning on betraying your own kind during that battle, but you’d better get everything prepared because if you play it well from now on, you might be able to join.”

         He frowns. “What do you mean?”

         “You might call yourself god of deceit, but you’re always doing what everybody expects you to do. Your father knew you’d soon disobey him, even if you surprised him when you didn’t kill me. And just as he decides he can’t trust you at all, I interfere and unsettle all of his certitudes about you.”

         I pause to see if he’s following. I can’t tell if he is. I slide my hand up my side and continue distracting him with my words as I start to unfasten his fingers from around the small blade, one by one. “You know how you asked me to spin a yarn for you, earlier this morning? What happened here is the beginning. I made my attitude, the threat on my life the morally acceptable justification for disobeying your father.”

         I force his hand open and the blade clinks to the floor, allowing some of the tension to leave my body.

         “You should be more careful,” Loki whispers. “One of the Allfather’s favourite games is to humble anyone he deems to proud.”

         I dismiss his counsel with a shrug and it makes him smile. As his eyes scan my face I feel my heart accelerating and my skin tingling. _Oops._ I know what this means, but it’s a bit too dangerous. Oh, is that me, starting to use understatement as well? I’m suddenly attracted to someone who tried to kill me, er… well, once should be enough warning for me to run away. Fast. It’s incredibly dangerous. I have to get far from him; now. “You owe me, Loki,” I whisper, and I push his arm away.

         He doesn’t resist but as I start escaping he holds me back. Almost without hurting me. “Why did you do this?”

          “To save my life, for one thing.” Blood is pumping loudly in my ears. I can’t start playing this game right now, not with him, not here. He’s not just any man; I wouldn’t know how to handle it.

         “Why else?”

         Or maybe I could have a little fun… maybe I would actually know how to keep it under control. All the other tricks I usually play on humans _did_ work here, after all. “What makes you think there’s another reason?” I ask him.

         “You do _not_ care about surviving.”

         I arch an eyebrow. “Perhaps I do, now.”

         He grins. “And I believe I heard you say ‘to save my life, for one thing,’ Eileen Weaver. Am I wrong?”

         I can’t prevent the smile and the rush of excitement inside me. Oh, screw it; I _want_ to give it a try. It feels good, it feels empowering to acknowledge it: I want the god of lies to be mine. If I wasn’t sure yet, I believe this is the ultimate sign that I’m beyond reason.

         He isn’t using all his strength to keep me where I stand and I know I can move easily. I slide my hand up his plated chest and close my fingers tightly over the hair at the back of his head. He didn’t expect that and starts, but doesn’t push me away. I’m so smaller than he is and I have to stand on tiptoe to whisper next to his ear. “You asked me to weave a story for you; it makes you my client, now. Let me tell you two true facts you didn’t know about me: I always complete the work I start. And my clients are always satisfied.” I lightly run my fingernails on the nape of his neck, giving him goose bumps. It makes me smile. “Oh, and I don’t know if you had guessed it from everything I explained about me, my dear trickster god, but even if I’m not _that_ good, as you said, even if I’m not you…” I pause and brush his cheek with my lips. Not more. Not for the moment. I draw a quick breath before my conclusion. “I’m still a professional liar.”

         I don’t give him time to answer and retreat swiftly before walking away. I don’t turn around to check the expression on his face, and of course he doesn’t follow me; I didn’t expect him to. My hands start shaking the following minute, but there’s an itch on my lips that I can’t bite off.

 


	8. Walking stray tracks might kill us all

    

         Who would have thought ‘constant surveillance’ would actually mean I would never ever be left on my own with Loki again? I’m feeling furious all the time, furious and vexed and impatient. How am I supposed to initiate a game of cat and mouse if there are always guards hanging around, when it’s not Thor downright invading my privacy? It’s been three weeks now but nothing is happening. Of course nothing is happening. I’m fed up with this, with all of them, and the worst is they always pop by at the most inconvenient moments, when I’m in the middle of making up some neat scene of slaughter for example. They don’t even come to be interesting, they just stay here for half an hour and leave after some awkward attempts at conversation, and I have to build up concentration again. At first I was polite and behaved myself, but when I saw Loki wasn’t going to even try and relax his clenched jaw to speak when he was around with the others, I decided to stop bothering altogether and started sulking too. I can silent-treat people as well as anyone else. And I didn’t even get to know about the results of our little excursion; I would have liked to admire my ripples.

         So I read a lot, and write pages and pages and pages to quiet the hum of frustration in my mind. I write down everything I remember from my former life, because after what happened the other day it’s likely I won’t keep my memories when I get sent back. I can feel myself turning bitter, and I often realize too late my thoughts are going in a circle revolving around the same idea: this is so unfair; I never asked for any of it and I should make them pay. Yes, I know what’s happening: I’m turning into Loki. But today I refuse to allow myself down that whining slope and sit down to enucleate a handful of monsters in a personalized version of a fairy tale I called “The Little White-Spattered-with-Red Riding Hood” in a moment of boredom. I guess I’ll stop writing when she dies. Everybody dies in my stories, lately. I wonder why.

         The pen stops working, for some reason. It soon goes flying over the balcony. I pick another one but I’m too restless to concentrate. Damn. I need to find something to keep busy; my mind is whirring too loudly. If only I had music; I miss music. I need… I need Mozart’s _Don Giovanni_ , I need _Aïda_ , I need Simon and Garfunkel, I need _Bohemian Rhapsody_. I try to conjure up songs in my head but the melodies are all mashed up and it’s a cacophony. Maybe I could ask for some sort of device that would allow me to play at least some of my favourite pieces. I sit down again and start listing all the music I ever liked.

         I am at the bottom of the second sheet when I hear the door click open. Oh, come on, now you don’t even knock? I stand up as I scribble the last title (Jeff Buckley’s _Hallelujah_ ) and I get ready to ask them to come back when they learn how to announce a visit. I whirl around to glare at whoever just walked in.

         And stare stupidly as I realize Odin himself is standing in the middle of the room, with Thor, Loki and a dozen guards. I switch out of angry mode and hastily shuffle my pile of paper around –I’m not sure why I do that –, hiding the gory stories and the list from their sight. His sight. Something falls but I don’t bother picking it up or even looking at what it is. I gather from the silence in the room that they’re expecting me to speak , so I do as I was taught; I straighten my back, square my shoulders, paint a smile on my lips, lift my head up and take a deep breath. But nothing comes. Shit. “Er…” I start. Brilliant. “I… the…” And it isn’t getting any better. “Good evening, er…” Sirs? Lords? Bloody hell, this seemed so easier the other day when I was risking my life with every word. I dart my eyes at Loki who’s pointedly looking at everything except me. _I’ll thank you for that later_. I continue to smile like an idiot, trying to quiet the trembling in my hands by folding them over my lap.

         Odin eventually speaks. “Good evening, Eileen Weaver. I hope we are not interfering with an important task you were completing.”

         “Oh, er, no, absolutely not. I was just working on, er… something.” I’m not going to explain the re-writing of classical fairy tales to them. “But it doesn’t matter,” I add, “I can continue later, when I have time.” He smiles smugly at my words and I can feel the sting of irritation inside my stomach awakening my flair for out-of-place sarcasm. “You know I have plenty of spare time.”

         He just continues smiling, a little twinkle of malice in his eye, and he calmly observes the way I have reorganized the room. I hope he won’t notice the mess of dresses and shoes on my bed in the alcove at the other end of the apartment. The asgardian garments I was given are hardly my type of clothes and are impossible to wear if I want to stay comfortable. I’ve always taken special care with what I look like, but here I spend half an hour every morning deciding whether I have to give up on walking or breathing properly depending on the dress I pick. And my flats were never particularly tidy anyway. But whatever, I guess they haven’t come for room inspection. Odin’s eye falls upon the bookmarked volumes on the table. I’ve been playing at comparing the French and English translations of Snorri Sturluson’s _Prose Edda_ , the famous written account of Norse myths,because that’s typically something I never had time to do before. There’s an _Elder Edda_ too, but I haven’t opened it yet. I’ll dig into this one later. “I can see you have done some reading,” he points out. Thor frowns and Loki is still haughtily ignoring his surroundings. “That’s more than what I can expect from most of the people here. Even my own sons have never been interested in the accounts humans made of what they believed we were.”

         “I’ve been doing my homework, yes,” I answer.

         “And what have you learnt?”

         _Where is he going with that?_ “Nothing that I didn’t already know.”     

         “Is that so? You already knew everything that was in all of the books you were given?”

         I frown at the malice and – scorn? Really? – in his eyes. “I had the opportunity to come across all this at university.”

         “And how is that?”

         _Is that how the god of poetry makes small-talk?_ I hesitate for half a second but can find no plausible excuse not to answer. “I studied… diachronic linguistics. The history and evolution of languages,” I explain as I see Thor frowning even harder. “One of my teachers was a specialist of Old Norse, and of Norse mythology. I simply followed his reading recommendations, and as the thorough student I was, I dug deeper in the… ancient myths.” The real reason was that I had grown very fond of the teacher, but they didn’t need to know that.

         “Languages… So you have the gift of tongues. What else did you study?”

         “More languages. Writing. Literature.” I narrow my eyes. “Are you planning on enrolling me for a post-graduate course? I doubt a Ph. D. from Asgard would be a reference for potential employers.” That makes Odin laugh heartily. I hope it’s a good sign, because I still don’t understand why he’s here and I’m pretty sure he won’t answer if I just ask. There’s a sudden gust of wind that chills me down to the bones and makes the pages of the books whisper to one another. It reminds me of the questions I wanted to ask Odin; I pick up the English translation and leaf through it with a smile. Then I look up straight at the king’s face. “I was wondering… If all this had happened in 1225, would I have been transported to Asgard as Snorri imagined it?”

         I can tell I’ve caught his attention because he stops laughing and starts staring at me quizzically. It’s a real question; I’ve always thought all the worlds people ever invented existed somewhere, in some fold of time and space. Maybe this proves that I was right. I hope it does. “What I’m asking is: do gods change according to the way mortals picture them? And in that case, in which replica of your world am I?” I feel a faint thrill as even Loki quits staring at nothing to frown at me. I realize only Odin understands what I mean, but he’s still not answering me. _Ok, I can push it further, if you really want me to._ “Maybe the story rewinds and everything starts again every time someone thinks you up. It would explain why I haven’t encountered some of the people in there.” I tap my forefinger on the book cover.

         “Such as?” Loki’s voice is but a whisper.

         _It’s even better when it’s you asking, honey._ “Oh, I don’t know. Hel, for example; and her siblings.”

         The air becomes thick to breathe. “Thor, Loki, please leave us. I need to speak to the mortal alone.”

         I don’t stop smiling as I see the two others hesitate, then walk away under their father’s heavy gaze. He also gestures the guards out and I’m left facing the one-eyed god, who doesn’t look pleased with me. I should continue muttering awkwardly. Of course I don’t. “Does your reaction mean Loki doesn’t know about his own offspring in this… version of things?”

         “Not yet.”

         I nod. “Maybe it’s too early in the story for that.”

         “Some things change according to the world we’re in, and some don’t. The only certitude I can have is about the end.”

         “Oh, I don’t doubt you know exactly how the book finishes. I simply wonder why you’re hiding it from them.”

         “I’m not hiding anything; the books were always here, all the books and stories, the old ones, the new ones, the best and worst ones. My people simply never deemed them important, and the ones who did are persuaded it’s only myths and legends the humans made up to entertain their children.”

         “But you know it isn’t.”

         “Contrary to the others, I do not need books to know what has happened and is happening in all the different stories people invent about us. I was granted the… terrible privilege of being able to live all of them if I want to, regardless of time and space.”

         I don’t know whether I should envy or pity him. “Is that what they called the Sight?”

         “I believe so,” he says. “People usually say I can foresee the future, but, as I told you, I can only know of how everything will end.”

         I put the book down. “So you don’t know what I’m doing here, do you?”

         Odin tenses up and looks around before sitting in a chair. I stay on my feet, however. “You seem clever, observant and brave, Weaver,” he whispers. “Clever enough to theorize about our existence, observant enough to know I am unable to answer you whereas I should be, and yet brave enough to ask regardless of the reaction I might have.” He sighs. “I can only answer you with another question. Will you be honest as you respond?” I nod cautiously. “Would you have preferred to arrive in any other duplicate?”

         _I wonder how many there are …_ I bite my lower lip and smile. “No. Not for all the gold the dwarves can make.”

         He shakes his head. “You have wits and you have guts. It will put you in danger.”

         I know I shouldn’t allow the feeling, but it’s good to hear someone say I have wits. “It already has.”

         “Oh, I know. Loki explained what you did, that night in London.” I feel the smile melt off my face. I don’t like the sound of that. “Have no fear, there will be no blame for that. I’m just warning you to be cautious here. This is not Earth. I don’t know what might happen to you until we send you back. You are not in the story.”

         “Neither are Thor’s friends on Earth or Loki’s enemies.” The paternal, mildly condescending smile he gives me is somewhat irritating, but I’m not ill-at-ease any more. I can talk to that person sitting in front of me, have an adult’s conversation, and that’s better than anything I could ever hope for. “I would have thought not being anywhere would allow me the freedom to… experiment.”

         His smile becomes wider. “This is far from being the wisest decision I have ever made, but I believe I will let you. I would like to see it very much.”

         “So maybe you will.”

         “Wits and guts…”

         I click my tongue and I point a warning finger at him. “Don’t flatter me to make me take your side, please. I know I can be a coward too. I gave up on life because of a handful of bullies. I lie, I cheat, and I fake sentiments I never actually feel. I’m not the best mortal who could land here.”

         He lifts his head up a little. “We wouldn’t have done much of a good-natured human. In fact, I am pleased that you were the one to survive my son’s experiments.” The twinkle of malice in his eye is back and he waits. He’s wondering if I’ll dare answer what he knows I crave to answer.

         I’m wondering the same. “So,” I start; I fold my arms. “He’s your son again, isn’t he?” _I dared._ I can’t decide if he’s happy he guessed my intention or angry at me for actually asking.

         He shakes his head again. “Don’t you know when you’re going too far?”

         I open my arms in mock astonishment. “I usually do. But go figure; I think somebody managed to persuade me I was brave. And perhaps I’m starting to enjoy it.”

         “Let me warn you again; I still haven’t decided whether I like you or not. That Loki is convinced you might be of sufficient use to him to let you live is too worrying to overlook.”

         “You can never trust him, everybody knows that.”

         “As a matter of fact, I don’t trust you either.”

         “Why should you? I just confessed I lied and cheated. I don’t _want_ people to trust me.”

         “Then what is it you want?”

         _Does he really think I’m stupid enough to give my intentions away?_ I shrug. “I think keeping the story going seems a good thing to reach for.”

         He represses a smile. “We all want that.”

         I can’t prevent the laughter. “But you have a substantial advantage.”

         He looks so old when he answers. “Have I? There are too many uncertainties in this story. I doubt I will be strong enough to carry this version all the way to the end.”

         Again, I wonder how many other worlds he’s already seen destroyed. “I –” I’m not sure how I can explain what I feel. “Don’t laugh at me, but I believe you will. In a way, I can say I have faith in your powers. You guys _are_ like gods, after all.”

         He’s very solemn now. “I never laugh at faith. Even if yours is not exactly the type of faith a mortal usually has in the ones who are supposed to be her gods.” He rubs his hands on his face. “I think that’s Loki’s mistake; he wants to be worshipped. But even in the other versions, he never is. He can never be. It is even worse here.”

         Again, I notice how old he looks; he’s old because he knows; he knows how all of it will end. He knows how the story spins out. It must be terrible. “He’s afraid, you know,” I answer. I bet Loki wouldn’t forgive me trying to make his father believe this.

         “Afraid? Him? Never.”

         “Of these enemies of his, yes he is. He boasts about being capable of destroying them alone, but this time it’s different; deep inside, he’s terrified they might catch him.”

         “How do you know that?”

         “I don’t. I just… guessed.”

         “Then why transgress my command and risk being found on Earth?”

         “You shouldn’t have to ask. Remember, he’s the one proud enough, foolish enough to wager his head on anything and everything. Take any passage in there,” I point at the Eddas I’ve been reading. “That’s how he works. Maybe I don’t know about all the stories that ever happened inside every mortal’s head, like you do, but his behaviour can’t be much altered. You say none of your kind ever bothered being interested in the previous myths, but I’m sure every single one of them has an intimate, maybe intuitive knowledge of what will have to happen, and they’re only trying to make things turn out differently. Loki more than any other. I thought you would have guessed that about your son.” I know my smile is a snarl.

         Odin is suddenly furious. “Do not taunt me, Eileen Weaver!” He waits for some reaction but I stay motionless. “I can’t take into account every qualm in my people’s minds. And half the slights Loki complains about are made up anyway. You call yourself a liar, but you have no idea what he’s capable of to reach his goal.” He’s lost the careful control of his words as he lets anger and frustration pour out. “And the worst part in this farce,” he continues, “is that none of us can tell what his goals are, apart from the final destruction, the goal he himself doesn’t know about, the one I have to keep hidden from him.” I let the storm wash out. That’s the only thing to do. “What do you think it feels like, being the only one who knows? Seeing him every day, knowing our destruction will come from him? Searching for every little hint that will remind me of how the story goes? I’ve tried to forget; I’ve tried pretending I could just let the events unwind, since there’s nothing I can do to change the course of our lives. You’ve said it, and with these words you proved you were wiser than anyone here, my task is to carry the story to its conclusion. Loki will pull one prank too much, and we will fight, and we will die, in this version as well as in all the other ones, and it will always be Loki’s fault. You must understand that there is no other choice than staying on this terrible path or we all disappear, because walking stray tracks might kill us all. Before you tell me that I haven’t tried hard enough, I’ll have you know that I’ve already risked far too much to try and change the end.”

         _Oh, have you, now?_ I wait for him to say more, but he falls silent. “Maybe this time you will succeed.” I’m not even sure why I say that. I know it’s a lie. I observe the god sitting in front of me as fury, and then acceptance and finally exhaustion pass on his face.

         “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, Weaver. I don’t know where you’re fitting in this new picture. But you’d better not make things worse.”

         “I’ll try not to. I swear I will.” I’ve never been so sincere. “But remember that if it happens, it won’t be on purpose.”

         Odin slowly gets up, draws near me and places a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Of all people on Earth, Loki had to stumble across a little weaver.”

         _What is that supposed to mean?_ “I’m sorry it had to be me.”

         “No, you’re not.”

         I have to smile. “No. I’m not.”

         “And you are not afraid either. Tell me, Eileen, tell an old, weary god. What is the mortals’ greatest fear nowadays, if they don’t fear the powers in the sky?”

         “I… I couldn’t answer that. I’ve heard so many lies when I asked this question to people. If you really, really want an answer, I guess I’d say we’re afraid of dying. But not just because of death, you know; because it’s incredibly difficult to acknowledge that the world will go on even once we’re gone. And we will be forgotten.” I look at him more intently. “I think that’s it; the fear of oblivion.” I shrug. “Or perhaps that’s my greatest fear.”

         “Of course it is. That’s what I wanted to hear. You humans really are entertaining,” he whispers. He considers me for another second, but I don’t know what to make of it. “It’s late, and I still have to find an excuse for asking these two to leave,” he smiles, pointing at the general direction of the door, behind which Thor and Loki are probably impatiently waiting. “Good evening, Eileen Weaver.” He starts walking away but turns around to grin at me. “I have many a name, you know that. And I know sometimes humans have other names. Do you?” I nod. Why the hell would he ask that? “Could you please tell me your full name?”

         Again, I can’t see why I shouldn’t tell him. “Eileen Victoire Weaver.” His eye opens a little wider. “I’m part French. Victoire is French for –”

         “Triumph, yes I know that.” He shakes his head; he looks sad, but I can’t fathom why. “So… interpretation would have you be the fair one who weaves victory.”

         I know I can’t let him flatter me. But the name rings a distant bell in my memory, something I’ve read or seen not so long ago. “I like the sound of it,” I answer, making a mental note to take time and think about it.

         “Of course; who wouldn’t?” He pauses and narrows his eyes. “Do you happen to believe in coincidences?”

         I really can’t understand the turn the conversation is taking. Plus, I’m starting to have a headache. “I didn’t use to believe fates were written beforehand, but I had to alter my opinion about that.”

         He sighs, and I think I glimpse the half shadow of a smile. “There’s still a lot of story to be told.” He sighs again. “I don’t think we’ll talk again in private. Goodbye, then. I have to ask you not to mention anything of what we said to anyone here, and especially not to Thor or Loki.”

         As I nod agreement I suddenly remember something very important. “Wait!” He turns to me. “Please… don’t erase my memories when you send me back. Please.”

         What seems to be genuine kindness appears on his face. “I already promised Loki I wouldn’t, but I think he wanted to tell you.” I can feel warm relief in my stomach and I beam at him. “Now you just have to hope I’m not as good a liar as you are.” He winks and walks out, closing the door on any other question I might ask. And I have far too many of them.

        

* * *

 

 

         There’s so much puzzlement whirling in my mind that I don’t sleep at all, and when morning comes I feel the urge for fresh air. If I stay inside any longer I might lose it completely so I decide to go for a walk to clear my head from the conversation with Odin. I’m not sure where I can go but from my balcony I can see a garden of some sort and I guess there will be no harm if I sit under a tree for a couple of hours. Now I just have to get there, and that’s a challenge in itself. I eventually find my way around by asking directions to one or two flabbergasted citizens and elect a stone bench to become my seat for the time being.

         I try to rest my mind. It’s a failure. The only thing I can be sure about is that… no. There’s nothing I can be sure about. All of this might very well be happening in my head, an after-effect of the drugs I took. My brain can hardly accept the validation of what is probably my most ancient belief: the stories we invent all take place somewhere. But then maybe I’m inventing this specific story. Maybe it’s only a dream. I don’t like the idea; I’d rather believe it’s a strange reality, even if it means more risks for my life. I breathe in, the scent of unknown flowers invading the air as sunrays touch the top of the trees.

         I start when I hear Loki’s whisper in my ear. “People told me they had seen a foreign-looking woman with short dark hair walking freely in the corridors. They seem to find you scary.”

         “Obviously, they’ve never had you sneaking up on them.”

         “Obviously.” He circles the bench and stands in front of me, his arms folded. I have to look up at him and I don’t like that, but if I get up it might be interpreted as a token of respect. And I’m certainly not offering him to sit next to me. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

         “Until you arrived I was enjoying the peace of the garden.” He doesn’t react. “Do you like creeping people out like that?”

         He shrugs. “Only the ones who need frequent reminding of who I am.”

         There’s a short silence that makes me notice he’s alone. “Did you lose your guards somewhere?”

         “From now on, I am allowed to talk to some people in private. Father authorized it for him, Thor, and you.”

         I can’t help smiling. _Cunning old bastard. Making you call him father again. Have you even noticed, Liesmith?_ “Why are you here, Loki?”

         “I have one question to ask and two things to tell you.” I keep silent. “First of all, I want to know what you and my father talked about yesterday evening. He refused to tell us and you look like someone who did not rest well last night. What did he say?”

         As I scan his face I understand that for some obscure reason he really believes I’m going to tell him; that I have to. “I don’t think the conversation would be of any interest to you,” I answer.

         He leans towards me with a grin. “You’re lying.”

         I chuckle. “Wow. Did you figure that out on your own? You’re damn clever.”

         “What I mean is you shouldn’t lie to me. I will discover everything eventually, so you’d better just speak.”

         I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry; I promised I wouldn’t repeat a single sentence of this conversation. And I won’t break my word this time.”

         He narrows his eyes and I can tell he’s deliberating whether to make me speak or not. I suppose he decides against it as he sighs. “After he joined us outside your room, Father told Thor that I would have to be in the battle. I don’t know how, but you were right; it seems they have started trusting me again. Or at the very least they want me to believe they do.”

         I was right… Ok, there’s still a depreciative comment accompanying the compliment, but still. “I’m… pleased to hear it.” What else can I say, anyway?

         He scoffs at that. “No, you will be pleased to hear what I am to tell you now. When you are sent back to Earth, you will keep your personality and your memories.”

         I almost frown, and then remember I’m not supposed to know, so I close my eyes and paint a contented smile on my face. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’ll do once I’m back there, but I can sort it out later.”

         “You will not have to. We have arranged that you should start working with the… friends Thor has down there, so you would benefit from all the protection you might need concerning the consequences of our night out. My dear brother asked me to assure you nobody will harass you about it.”

         My eyes shoot open and I stare at him as the words sink in. He clears his throat and averts his eyes. I can’t believe it. They went the extra mile for me. _He_ went the extra mile? Is this a gesture from Odin? There’s no way I can be sure. And nobody will ever tell me. Or maybe… I mentally shake myself out of conjecturing. I had a plan; let’s stick to it.

         I get up and place myself under Loki’s gaze, so he _has_ to look at me. He pretends he doesn’t see me doing so until he gives up and our eyes meet. I smile and straighten up. “For all I know, this might very well be a massive bunch of lies. You could just be saying this to quiet my worries and when the day comes to send me home, how could I reproach you with lying since I’ll remember nothing?” I can see uncertainty shadowing his features, as if he understands he could have done that but never thought about it. “You could be lying so you’re not indebted to me anymore; I know you must _hate_ that, because it means I have a teeny-tiny bit of power over you.”

         I master my irritated reaction as he starts eyeing me scornfully. “Don’t be delusional; you have no power over me.” His lips part in an amused grin. “And I can see no reason I should lie to you; it would be… expected of me.”

         Not bad. But I still have a few aces to play. “Do you know what would be utterly unpredicted?”

         “Please enlighten me.” He knows where I’m going with this. But whatever, it’s too late and I’m having too much fun. I stand on tiptoe just long enough to place a light kiss on the corner of his smirk. He straightens a little and a distant look appears on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I think this is expected.”

         _You pretentious, conceited idiot._ But I’m sure I’m better than he is. “Oh,” I simply say, lowering my eyes for a second. Then I look up again and lay a hand on his arm. “Anyway, thank you for helping me. Or if you didn’t, thank you for telling me a lie so pretty I want to believe it no matter what.” _Your turn now._

         He leans in to whisper, “If you fear people might lie to you, don’t give away what you want to hear from them.”

         I make my fingers close tighter over his arm and throw the entire ‘I can’t resist your power anymore’ act at his face – faint blushing, hesitation, fingers twitching and all – before reaching for his lips again; this time he kisses me back. I knew it would work; how to flirt with an alien who thinks he’s a god? Simple; if he seems to be working just like a man, then he probably does.

         It’s a good kiss, one that is plainly asking ‘how far do you want to go?’ and I shut my eyes to enjoy the moment until his arms close around me and he slips both hands in my hair, making my whole body suddenly decide it wants more. Now. If he continues being so good at it, my clothes are likely to vanish in the next second. And that’s not acceptable. So I take two steps backwards, leaving a puzzled look on his face. I can hardly hear my own voice over the loud echo of blood in my ears. “I… I’m sorry. It was a bad decision. A mistake. I… I presumed of…” I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I say again. I can feel my body screaming, _what the hell do you think you’re doing?_ But my brain is in control again.

         Loki is thinking; I can tell he is. Deliberating how to react. The choice is easy: let me leave and deal with it; try to convince me in one way or another; force me. And in any case I’m the winner.

         I flash one last shy smile at him and walk away. I have to confess it pains me a little that he doesn’t catch me back.

         If only I had music…

 

 


	9. King of Spades

         Ten very long days of pretending nothing ever happened just went by. Loki is as obnoxious as ever, even more so since they’ve started actively preparing an attack; I regret grumbling about being neglected, because every time someone angers him he comes by and complains about it, for some reason. I know he’s still supposed to keep an eye on my doings but does he really have to talk to me every day? To be honest, I think I’ve used up all of my once-famous supply of patience. I guess I’m the only one listening to him anyway, or maybe it’s his way of getting back at me for that day in the garden. Who knows what can be happening in that goddamn head of his?

         He doesn’t even listen when I make suggestions that might help. One day, as he bursts inside the room enraged and starts describing how he will show the others how good he is at whatever it is he’s talking about, I just keep on reading and don’t look up.

         He eventually realizes I’m not paying attention and stops talking. “Are you even listening to me?”

         “No, I’m not.” I don’t know how he reacts because my eyes are fixated on the book, but I can tell my answer takes him aback.

         “Well… I was saying, I’ll show them, and –”

         I raise a hand to silence him. “Can’t you see I’m busy? And anyway I don’t care about what you have to say. When will you stop trying to show things to the others? I thought their judgment was worthless, you’ve complained about it enough.”

         He draws nearer and places a hand over the pages; I slowly lift my head and keep a straight face as he gives me his ‘how dare you’ stare. My skin starts itching, because I’m a little bit stupid and I actually like it when he does that; it makes me want to wipe it out from his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

         “True. And that’s why you shouldn’t waste your time explaining battle strategies to me.” He raises an eyebrow. “Particularly when what you actually do is whine because nobody listens to you,” I snap.

         “I do not whine.”

         “Yes you do; you’re a real cry-baby.”

         His jaw clenches and he straightens up, as if stung by a wasp. He walks a few steps backwards and mimics acceptance with a curt bow. “I shall leave you to your work, then.”

         I smile, pretending to be oblivious to the sarcasm in his tone. “Thank you very much. See you later, have a nice day.”

         I resume my reading, but I can’t help regretting everything when I hear the door slam behind him. That’s not how I’m going to make him reach out to me again, I know that, but I don’t want him to think his whole broken-down boy act will make me feel protective or anything. I’m not a crutch; I’m not good at comforting. So I let him mull over my exasperated reaction and over the next weeks I try to pavlov whining out of him by adapting my answers – and body language – to his behaviour.

         It works better than I would have expected and soon I’m actually looking forward to his visits. What I don’t understand is why he’s not trying anything with me. I start thinking that perhaps he’s given up, but after catching a certain look in his eyes I know it’s not true. He doesn’t even try to hide it, actually, and gradually the certitude that he’s waiting for me to do something makes way into my mind. In that case, he might wait for a long time; I’m not caving in. Even if I sometimes pretend I haven’t heard him come in as I sit at my desk and let him silently approach until he looks over my shoulder and I fake a start; even if I can’t help examining every inch of him when he’s pacing the room; even if I occasionally tease him into whining because he hasn’t said a word in an hour and I want to hear the sound of his voice; even if –

         Bloody hell, how longer is he going to keep me waiting? It’s his turn now, that’s how the game is supposed to be played. That’s what’s expected of – wait a minute.

         He’s got to be kidding me! How did I _not_ see it before? Oh, that was a skilled move, not doing what is expected of him, I have to admit it, but I’m not going to reach out. He _must_ realize I’m not a beginner either; but I don’t know what else I can do without it being too blatant. If I don’t react immediately, he’s going to beat me at my own game. I realize that the day I catch myself daydreaming with my eyes fixated on his lips, my heartbeat steadily accelerating. This whole thing is spiralling out of control, but I won’t yield. Unless he continues being –. No, brain, don’t go on a holiday right now, I won’t yield, I said.

 

         Yeah, I should have told myself to hold on to that thought, because one morning I wake up and something hits me: it has been exactly three months I’ve been sleeping alone and I decide enough is enough. To hell with not being blatant; tonight, he’s staying.

        

* * *

 

 

         Well, not tonight, apparently, since they’re attacking tomorrow and they’re throwing a little party this evening. And I’m invited. I don’t want to go, I shiver at the very idea of being there with all the others, but I fear it might be considered as a slight if I don’t show up at least for a few minutes. Oh dear, what am I going to _do_ there? Not that I don’t like fancy dinners usually, but in Asgard? It’s not where I belong; not at all. I’d rather stay tucked inside my room and wait for the more powerful people to handle the situation as I watch them from the background. That’s what I do. I also suspect I’m being used for some secret purpose of Odin’s, what I don’t like at all.

         I knew it was going to be an ordeal the moment I spotted the look of horror on Loki’s face when I told him I’d been asked to the party. We then proceeded to engage in a very bitchy argument where he took bets on how long it would take me to embarrass myself if I did come, and I ended up promising I would go just to annoy him. I’m not particularly happy with that outcome, but there’s hardly anything I can do about it now. I guess I’ll just pop by, smile a little, stay long enough for people to see me and then allow myself to retreat back into my cave. Perhaps that will make everyone reasonably satisfied. I hope.

         For Heaven’s sake, they even sent someone to help me get prepared! I politely declined and broke a vase, one that looked very expensive, because I can’t actually assault the handmaid for no apparent reason, can I?

         The familiar gesture of circling my eyes with a thick line of khôl reminds me of the numerous cocktail parties I attended when I was just a writer. I try to remember if I ever felt that nervous before; maybe for the first one. But the memory of that specific evening eludes me. I chuckle to myself; it’s probably been overwritten by more interesting ones. Such as that day I ‘accidentally’ tripped over the hem of my skirt and sent the contents of my champagne glass into the Prime Minister’s face. Best conversation opener ever. He was terribly sorry and concerned that I could have hurt myself, and as I’d been very careful to be sure someone I knew was with him at that very moment, I was swiftly introduced. I smile at my reflection as I remember the envy in other guests’ eyes. Maybe I might get a little fun out of tonight, after all.

         I’m cursing under my breath at the incredible number of minuscule silk-covered buttons needed to fasten the side of the dress I’ve picked when there’s a knock on the door. “I’ll be there in a minute!” I call out. I check what I look like in the mirror, hoping the effort is worth it. It would have been on Earth, but here? I don’t know the codes of this society and even if I’m perfectly able to integrate new rules, I don’t exactly feel in the mood for it since it won’t bring anything to me. The woman told me to dress tastefully, so perhaps I should button the skirt further down my left leg… Oh, screw it; I can walk more easily if I leave it opened up to my thigh, and anyway I’m not one of them. If they feared I might slut up, they shouldn’t have asked me to come. And who knows? Maybe that’s exactly why Someone sent that girl, to be sure I’d do the exact contrary. In both cases, showing some skin might help. Yes, I’m very aware I’m behaving like a sixteen-year-old on a first date; shut up, judgmental whisper in my head.

         Whoever’s waiting behind the door knocks again. I shouldn’t allow myself to do so, but I wish it could be Loki, coming to tell me they reconsidered their idea and that I can stay alone tonight. But as I open to two guards I have to give up on that hope. They’re here to escort me to the party; well, if I wasn’t sure yet, that’s a clear sign that Someone really, really wants me there. The only question being why… I have to confess it stirs up my curiosity; at the very least it gives me something to wonder about to keep me busy should the guests prove boring. I smile at the armed men and walk out briskly, leaving them no choice but to fall into step. They’ve been properly trained and almost manage not to frown at my leg. _So_ , I think; _this works here too_.

         At the very instant I walk through the gigantic doors of the hall, I notice that I was misled and that there are actually _two_ parties going on here: one on my right, where elegantly garbed citizens are politely conversing, and one on my left, exactly similar to what anyone would imagine a vaguely Viking gathering of warriors to look like. And guess who’s having fun? Of course the guards direct me to the boring section and leave me standing there without another word. _You’re on your own here, Eileen,_ I tell myself. There aren’t many ways out of that situation; I guess I’ll just stick to the original plan: catch Odin’s attention so he sees I’ve come, and then flee far from the stares and whispers. I can’t be bothered with all this social hollowness here; but I can’t see the king of Asgard anywhere. In any case, I need a place to stand from which I’ll be able to survey the entire hall, and I select a nice, isolated corner.

         So here I am, without a drink because I couldn’t face cutting through the groups of people to get one, seeing everything and waiting for everyone to forget about me altogether so they start behaving normally again. They all look so majestic, especially the women, and I wonder which one is Var, the Aesyn I’d fear to antagonize the most if I believed these people were really gods, the one who hears oaths between men and women and sets out her vengeance on those who break their word. She’d have her plate full with me, always ruthlessly lying about eternal love.

         I spot tremendous amounts of food being carried around, but nobody is actually eating it; it just sits there on the tables, giving an impression of wealth and abundance to the hall. Still, I can tell from the noise that there’s been quite a lot of drinking in _some_ areas of the room, particularly that one over there with couches and armchairs, where I can see the back of Thor’s head. I think there’s Sif too, the ones who call themselves the Warriors Three, a handsome Asgardian I’ve immediately identified as Balder, and a handful of others I can’t even tell if I was introduced to. Probably not. And Loki, sitting apparently relaxed, and who would never have missed seeing me if he hadn’t closed his eyes in what seems to be amused weariness. Or weary amusement, hard to tell from where I stand. I can’t hear what they’re talking about but now and then there’s a sudden burst of loud laughter and even Loki smiles sometimes. I let my eyes sweep the room again in search for Odin, but as I still can’t see him I decide to leave.

         I haven’t walked two steps that I hear Thor’s voice. “Eileen Weaver!”

         I freeze. Damn. I’d almost escaped it. A smile forces itself up my face as I gracefully turn around. “Yes?”

         The so-called god of thunder is walking to me, and he seems in a very good mood. “I hadn’t seen you coming in! You can’t be leaving so soon; will you join me and my friends for a moment?” I’m trapped. I can’t say no, there are too many people watching, their attention having been immediately attracted by my name being called out loud. I nod and proceed to follow Thor across the hall. “From what I know,” he’s saying, “earthlings like parties. Please, have a seat and drink with us.”

         Loki frowns at me when we arrive, as if it was my fault. I guess he’s still sulking over what I snapped back earlier today. “I am unsure as to the wisdom of this idea, brother,” he says in a soft tone I’ve never heard him use before, and I’m torn between seizing the opportunity to leave this place by agreeing with him and the uncanny urge to stay just to unnerve him.

         The choice is taken from me when Thor grabs my shoulders with one hand, pulls a high-backed armchair closer with the other and sits me in it. Opposite his brother. “We do not require the help of wisdom to invite people at our table. Why should she stay alone in a corner?” I scan the blonde god’s face, trying to decide whether he’s had too much to drink or if he’s playing drunk to behave more freely. Hm. _Family of liars_ , I can’t help thinking, even if Thor isn’t really the best of the three. He pushes a glass into my hand as heavy silence falls on the people who were talking and laughing barely a minute ago. They’re all staring at me; curious, angry, defiant, as if I was some sort of strange item discovered on another world.

         Which I am.

         Ok.

         Old reflexes kick in under the stares and I sit back in the chair, resting my hands on the luxuriously upholstered arms, my back straight and my head high. I’ve learnt that pretending to have the upper-hand on a small group of people can make them believe it’s the case, and I won’t shrink under their observation. I don’t know if it works, but it compels Loki to straighten in his seat too. I carelessly slide my feet to the left, making the dress slip a little. All of them steal glances at the thin black tattooed stripe that trails the side of my leg from ankle to thigh. Both ends are hidden; the line finishes under my foot and starts on the small of my back, but I’m the only one to know it and that’s precisely the idea. Even Loki is trying not to watch too blatantly, and as his eyes slither up to my face a rush of satisfaction sparkles all over me. I pinch my lips as if I repressed a smile, which makes him glare. And yet, maybe I’m imagining things, but he doesn’t look that irritated.

         Until Thor slams both his hands on his brother’s shoulders and Loki slumps in the chair again. This time I really have to refrain from laughing and he averts his eyes as angry embarrassment shades his face. “And you are the one we must thank for her presence here!” Thor raises his glass. “To my brother Loki, who, with his latest mischief, has brought us our delightful guest.”

         What the hell is _he_ playing at now? “To Loki,” I say loudly before taking a sip. Mead. Of course. The others throw awkward glances at each other and mutter the toast. They drink longer than necessary and even the clink their cups make when they put them sown sounds reluctant. So; it turns out that I’m going to have fun. Too bad I’ll have no one to share the memories with.

         Thor doesn’t seem to notice the strained silence that follows, and I feel I have to do something. “It is an honour for me to be here tonight,” I tell him. “And of course I wish you every success in tomorrow’s battle. But I haven’t seen your father anywhere; I hope he isn’t unwell.”

         This big man really has a wide smile, I notice. A smile wide enough to hide many, many things. “He will come later, only to salute the guests. He needs all of his energy for tomorrow and tires quickly.”

         I give a sympathetic nod but don’t say more, letting somebody else take the opportunity to keep the conversation, for lack of better word, going. Thor comes to sit on the sofa next to Loki’s chair and slightly pushes his brother’s elbow to share the arm of the chair. _Aw, how cute._ I hope they can’t feel sarcasm…

         “Is it true,” I hear someone say, “that on Earth you fight with firearms?”

         I slowly turn my gaze to the small man who asked. I can’t conjure up a name to match his face. “Yes, it is,” I answer. _Are they planning on questioning me?_ “But Thor or Loki could have told you that.”

         Sif smiles at me. “Thor almost never mentions what happened when he went there, so we never dared ask. And Loki…” she seems to be struggling with how to express her thoughts.

         I smile back. “You don’t believe Loki when he talks about it, do you?”

         Another moment of embarrassed silence. “Well,” the small warrior eventually mutters, “he says you learnt how to… fly.”

         I look at him in the eyes. “We did.” I take a small sip and savour their stunned faces. “Actually, we invented machines that fly, machines big enough to carry hundreds of us inside, and we travel all around the planet like that.” It feels a little silly to be explaining that to _them_.

         “How does it work?”

         _Of course they had to ask._ “I’m not an engineer, I know the basics but I couldn’t explain it properly. It’s physics.”

         They all frown. “Science,” Loki says.

         Thor’s burst of laughter makes everyone jump. “You should know, brother, with all the scientists you subjugated and forced to work for you.”

         Loki bows his head in acknowledgement. “But I don’t have your practice with these people. I never got to…” He side-glances at his hand, carefully selecting his words. “Know them better,” he concludes with a smile. Ok. So. Breathing. Anyone around who could remind me of how it works?

         Sif throws in another question. “So it’s also true that you fight with the flying machines, then?”

         “Hm?” Why is she still talking to me? I don’t want to answer their stupid questions any more, I want them to leave me alone and –. Brain; please. Now. I transfer my eyes to her face. “Yes, we do. We…” What can I say that will make them regret ever asking me? I have to find something embarrassing; something shameful; something that will shock them. _Hm. What if I tried…_ “We fit specific weapons on them so as to kill people from above. Or we load big bombs onto big planes and we drop them on cities below. It enables us to make plenty of victims at minimum risk.” That should do the trick. They’re all staring at me again, except Loki, who’s still examining his fingers. Thor clears his throat and I suddenly get the best of ideas; I turn to him. “But maybe when all of this is over you could get your friend Stark to come and give a little lecture about it. I believe him to be a very capable expert in that field.”

         Loki abandons the contemplation of his hand to get a glimpse of his brother’s expression and he seems delighted. I’m feeling quite proud of myself right now, re-using a blend of my own data and the information I got from Loki.

         “That’s what he used to be,” Thor says, giving me an angry stare. _Yeah, try that, as if it could work. You’ve seen me defy your father, for heaven’s sake!_ “He has changed.” Loki arches a doubtful eyebrow at these words. “Just as I have changed,” Thor concludes.

         “Maybe,” I say softly. “But he’s still making billions and you’re still a warrior. I actually believe only the motives have changed.” Ok; and what about trying not to make everyone here angry? Because if I continue Thor is going to attack, and I really don’t think anyone will defend me. I keep a straight face and take another tiny sip. “But that’s what’s important, right? _Why_ you do things. What Really Matters; the reason why. If you don’t have a reason why, you’re just behaving at random and that’s not what an evolved species such as humankind does.” I drink again; it should do it, since the only one who isn’t utterly impervious to the heavy irony in my tone is Loki, and I think I might have caught just enough of his attention for him not to pinpoint I’m making fun of everyone. He doesn’t say a word but I know his eyes never left my face as I was speaking. He’s waiting, fingers resting in a steeple over his lips.

         “So,” Sif says hesitantly, “you still consider humans as an evolved species.”

         “You can if you look in the right places.” _No, Eileen, don’t start again_ ; the voice of reason warns me. But it’s too late; I’ve caught the hint of a smile on Loki’s face and I don’t seem able to control my words. “Don’t mistake me, there are splendid details down there, things so beautiful they make you forget all the ugly and horrible on the other side of the scale. It’s a balance of forces, actually.” I smile. “Policemen against drug dealers; the UNO fighting warlords; freedom to create breath taking works of art balancing the rule of mass murdering tyrants; Beethoven’s –”

         “Enough,” Thor interrupts me sombrely.

         _Beethoven’s Fifth mingling with the cries of women being raped and murdered,_ I conclude for my own pleasure.

         Ok, maybe that’s taking it a little too far. It’s just that I’ve seen so many people wrecking their lives trying to make the world better, and so many just succeeding in making it worse… “To sum it all up,” I say instead, “we’re a complicated species. I think we’re brilliant. To humankind!” I raise my glass high and proceed to empty it, tossing my head backwards. I feel hot and I suspect my cheeks are flushed. Only Loki echoes my words in a greedy voice, the others keeping silent.

         I hear a soft laugh and when I put my glass down, Balder speaks. He hasn’t said a word since I sat down. “It’s both strange and healthy, hearing you speaking of your own kind this way. You’re facing another species, you have this incredible opportunity to make humans appear… good, and likeable; and yet there’s more scorn than love in what you said. Not that it wasn’t fascinating,” he adds with a smile. “It seems you know where the ugly truth hides.”

         _I like his way of seeing things_ , I think as I smile back. “Well, I –”

         But Loki’s voice covers mine. “I think my brother was right; enough of this now.” I turn to him, slightly puzzled; his eyes are gleaming with… I can’t decide what. The rest of his face is an unreadable mask and he’s twirling the rest of mead in his glass. I would have thought he wanted to hear more, but I comply and fall silent.

         “Why, Loki?” Sif asks. “Wasn’t she making things easier for you? She’s corroborating everything you always said about humans.”

         “Sorry to oppose you, but I’m not. I firmly believe you should leave us in our own mess. You wouldn’t know where to start to fix any of it, actually.”

         Thor frowns at me. “You don’t think us capable of helping Earth?”

         I stop smiling, because I want them to understand I’m not bantering any more, I’m extremely serious. “I’m saying that you shouldn’t even try. We’re an ungrateful lot. No one would ever acknowledge you helped, because most of us believe we don’t need help at all.” I alternatively look at Thor and Loki. “I’m telling you; we’re a waste of time. Forget about us. Both of you.”

         Thick silence envelopes all of us and I can feel somebody’s gaze on me. I look around and see Odin at the other end of the hall, wickedly smiling at me. I wonder whether he heard us or not, and if he did what he’s thinking about all of it. He seems satisfied enough with seeing me sitting there, and he bows his head in slow salutation. I smile back, almost getting up to go and talk to him, but he’s already leaving the room. I don’t like this at all. He’s using me for something and I can’t figure out what. It’s very upsetting.

         “Well.” I turn my eyes back to the others. “I’m sorry I put such a damper on the evening. But we could, I don’t know, –”

         “Play cards?”

         This is the third time I’ve been interrupted tonight and I usually hate that, but I jump on Balder’s stupid suggestion heartily. “That’s an idea!” Nobody else reacts.

         “I have been awaiting an opportunity to practice a specific game inspired by a form of distraction Thor brought back from Earth; something you call a magic card trick, I believe?” I nod. _Where is he going with that?_ “I have made a game of it. I know we already have a master of tricks here,” he curtly bends his head towards Loki, who stays still as a statue, “but I think I’ve grown quite capable and need an audience. It’s easy, a child’s game: you pick a card, memorize it and put it back in the pile. I have to guess which one it is. Of course I’ve adapted it to occasions such as this evening of celebration, adding what we could call adult’s enjoyment to the trick. If I do guess which your card was, you drink. If I don’t, I shall be the one to empty my glass.” Nobody says a word. “Would you like to play?” He presents the deck of cards.

         There’s more silence. Nobody moves. I’m feeling a little responsible for the atmosphere, so I lean over and pick a card. Eight of hearts. I put it back, Balder shuffles the deck, fusses with the cards, – I’m afraid Loki might laugh, but he doesn’t – and pulls mine out. I laugh and fill my glass to drink. At least I’ve tried something.

         They cave in one after the other and the fake merriment I’ve conjured up gradually transforms into genuine laughter as mead flows. Eventually, Sif blatantly pretends the card was the wrong one; Thor offers to drink in her place, pointing out her inability to hold liquor. I sit back and observe the two of them as they fake an argument and she ends up downing the bottle to quiet his mockeries. Everything seems so simple, all of a sudden. I watch Loki play, but when he loses he only dips his lips in the wine, never drinking too much of it. I decide I’d better do the same or I’ll end up wasted before the evening is over, but after all I’m not the one supposed to fight monsters tomorrow, and maybe I can escape hangovers as I escaped bruising.

         It’s Loki’s turn again, and for some reason, when the others aren’t watching, he lets me catch a glimpse of the card he’s picked. King of spades. But when Balder pulls it out again, the drawing flickers and changes. Of course Loki shakes his head when he sees the three of diamonds and Thor hands Balder his glass, but he refuses to admit he was wrong. “No; I’m sure he cheated.”

         The atmosphere grows heavy again. “Oh, please,” someone says. “Why would he cheat? It’s just a game!”

         “He doesn’t need a reason; he just did because it amused him! And I’m sure it’s not the first time, look at him, he barely drank a glass!”

         “I seem to be in luck, tonight,” Loki says.

         “Or you wish to avoid intoxication. You might have other plans.”

         “Such as?” Thor asks.

         “How could I know? Sabotaging tomorrow’s attack, perhaps. Making us drink would be very useful for him.”

         Thor glares at Balder. “Take that back at once!”

         Loki keeps a smile nailed to his face. “Calm down, brother. I do not take offense from these words.” But something inside me shivers when I see the hatred dissimulated deep in his eyes.

         I’m pretty sure Balder saw it too, because he freezes for a second. “I… I apologize, Loki. I shouldn’t have said that. If the Allfather trusts you, then I should too.” The others relax, but I can’t tell why, I don’t. And I’m right not to. “I forgive you for trying to cheat instead of playing honestly. We know it is not entirely your fault.”

         I’ve reconsidered my opinion; this guy is getting on my nerves. “He did not cheat,” I interfere. “I saw the card he picked, it wasn’t this one.”

         Balder smiles at me ironically. “But your word isn’t better than his, pretty little liar.”

         Everybody tenses up, Loki included. I shouldn’t find this so flattering. “You’re being disrespectful to a guest,” Sif hisses.

         “No harm done,” I tell her. “I’ve seen worse than a drunken bad loser.” Thor’s eyes meet Loki’s for half a second and he sits back.

         “You’re playing the good, obedient boy, are you?”

         “Enough, Balder.” Thor’s warning is a mere growl.

         “Can’t you see he’s still the same fraud? He pretends he doesn’t care but he will get back at me later, I know he wants me dead. We were talking about people changing; let me reveal something to you, Thor: your brother hasn’t changed, and it isn’t his little weaver here who will make a difference despite what everyone believes. They shouldn’t even be here, if there was any justice in this Realm.”

         Thor gets up so violently it makes the table tumble down, sending the empty bottles and glasses crashing to the floor. I start and sit on the edge of my chair, ready to run, and as I look around I notice all heads have turned to us. “I won’t ask you again,” Thor says, and he’s frightening right now, “take that back immediately.”

         Balder gets up too. “What if I refuse?”

         I scream as Thor plunges to tackle the other. My fingers let go of the glass I’m holding but in the cacophony of shouts and furniture falling over I don’t hear the sound it makes. I see the others are already on their feet and I decide I’d better do the same since the two men are rolling on the floor, trying to punch each other in the face. Two of Thor’s friends join in to take them apart, but they fail and soon the fight becomes general. I take a few steps backwards, just like Loki, who’s observing the scene with slight disgust on his features, mingled with a sort of haughty hunger. “Do something!” I yell at him. “Stop them!”

         He turns his gaze to me and shakes his head. “They want to fight.”

         “What the –” A loud noise covers my protest. I whirl around to see but I don’t know if it’s because of the high heels, the mead, or both, but I’m thrown off balance and I fall. I swear and yank my shoes off.

         Loki laughs but still bends down to help me up. “You shouldn’t stay here,” he says.

         I lean on him to steady myself, just a little longer than needed, when we hear Balder’s voice. “Don’t be coy, Loki. You’re letting your brother fight for you again. We’re not children anymore.”

         Loki closes his eyes and all the muscles of his face contract as he swallows the taunt. “Leave and go back to your rooms now,” he tells me. “You might get hurt.”

         “But… you’re not going to join in, are you?”

         “Someone will have to stop them.” He lets go of me and turns towards the piled-up people.

         “I –”

         “Just go away,” he yells at me over his shoulder. “Unless you want to help me fight,” he adds with a grin.

         I shake my head frantically, pick my shoes up, and run for it.

 


	10. Maybe I was wrong

         I manage to calm my nerves by lying down on the sofa and breathing deeply. It still takes me more than an hour to feel relaxed enough to consider unbuttoning my tight dress and going to bed. But I’m somewhat grateful the idea didn’t occur to me earlier when there’s a knock on the door and I hear Loki’s voice. “Are you asleep?”

         I get up and make myself walk calmly; I’ve slipped my high heels on again and I don’t want to risk another fall. “I’m not.” He gets in and leans his back on the door to close it behind him. “It’s strange,” I continue, “because a good old brawl involving almighty aliens is something I find soothing, usually.”

         He shakes his head in disapproval, but I know he’s struggling not to laugh. “Always sarcastic.”

         I fake offense. “Sarcastic? Why, never! My dear sir, you’re insulting me.”

         “My dear madam, I am deeply sorry if my words have hurt you.” He bows, but when he straightens up he’s smiling.

         “Stop making fun of me and get inside. I’m not standing there for hours in these shoes.” I curl up in what has become my favourite chair and he sprawls on the sofa.

         “What makes you think I’m going to stay for hours?” he asks.

         _I do_ , some malicious voice whispers in my head, but I only shrug carelessly. “It’s just a manner of speaking,” I say. He tilts his head backwards and smiles at the ceiling. “You seem in a good mood.” He only grins more. “Can I know why, or is it so… uncommon that you have to keep it a secret?”

         He laughs and looks at me. “Because of you,” he points at the general direction of the chair I’m sitting in, “my brother asked something from me.”

         I silence the inner cheers invading my mind. “And why does that make you so happy?”

         He frowns, a little surprised. “Do I have to explain?”

         I know I shouldn’t, but the urge to mess with him is too strong. I sigh and roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still trying to outshine him. Aren’t you a little too old for these games?” His smile fades away, as if I’d just thrown a bucket of iced water at his face. It makes me feel guilty. Damn it all. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t ruin your evening. What did he want?”

         His eyes narrow but I keep smiling and he eventually speaks. “He asked me to come to you and apologize on his behalf for his barbaric attitude tonight.”

         I shake my head. “It’s all right. I’ve seen worse.” He scoffs. “Well, not exactly worse, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. As long as everyone is ready for tomorrow, because you’d better win that damned battle.” Loki tenses up. “I’d hate being captured by these space monsters; they don’t seem half as civilized as you are.” He turns his face to the side to hide the shadow on his features, but he’s not quick enough. I realize that I was always right about all of this: he’s afraid; more than afraid. “By the way, shouldn’t you be elsewhere, getting last minute plans ready?” His eyes focus on my face again and I know the surge of adrenaline it sends over me isn’t a good sign. Or maybe it is… I _had_ said he’d be staying tonight, after all.

         He tilts his head to the right. “They can spare me for a moment. And in any case here is exactly where I want to be.” Ok; and I thought what happened before was a surge of adrenaline… Brain; control; now. I make myself concentrate on the rest of his words. “I’d like to be even more outstanding than usual tomorrow, and I come to you for suggestions.”

         Oh. I see. Well. I blink once or twice, otherwise managing to keep a straight face under which I scream disappointment and imagine peeling his skin off with my fingernails to make him pay. “You come to me for battle suggestions? And I thought you hadn’t had _that_ much to drink.” Oh, yes, because snapping out sarcasm at him is so going to help. I glimpse the twitch of his lips and understand I have to get a grip back on myself.

         One day, I’ll tell him I’m very aware that the ripple contracting his muscles right now means he’s seriously considering murdering me on the spot. He shuts his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I have ideas enough. But they’re all… mine. I need something unexpected, and who better than you to find one? Besides,” he adds with a half-smile, “I’m still your client, am I not?”

         I stare at him like the complete idiot I seem to have become over the past seconds. “You can’t come up with something too unexpected a handful of hours before a battle. It’s too dangerous.”

         He opens an eye to pour scorn at me. “I never asked your opinion about it; I need ideas.”

         I feel my jaw clench, and once again I can’t resist the urge to provoke him. “I need to know if you’re going to betray your own. Because considering the image they have of you, not doing so would be unexpected enough.”

         He gets up in a swift movement and starts pacing the room. “More sarcasm? Do you never let it rest?”

         “Do you?” Now, getting a grip over myself is a complete failure, isn’t it?

         I expect him to walk out and leave me there, but he’s come to an abrupt stop. “Why is that vase broken?” he asks.

         “Oh, that happened earlier today. Inanimate objects are never completely safe around passive-aggressive people.”

         “What does this mean?”

         I load my sigh with impatience. “It’s easy to understand, even for you. I wanted to hit the handmaid, refrained from doing so, took it out on the vase, and if anybody else but you asked I’d pretend it was an accident because I don’t accept my own urge for violence and prefer being, as mentioned before, a devious bitch. Now can we please go back to your problem?”

         He’s staring at me in disbelief, as if he was slowly processing what I just said, trying to understand. “My… problem. Yes. Right.” He frowns but doesn’t say more.

         I get up, too nervous to stay still and wait for him to speak. “Is there any sort of plan of attack?”

         “Storm on them, destroy them, come home triumphant.” It’s my turn to stare. “I don’t believe I need to tell you where the suggestion came from.”

         “Who’s being sarcastic now?”

         That brings a smile back to his lips, but I suspect it’s involuntary because he masters it. “So,” he says, “any ground breaking idea? I will remind you that nobody trusts me, and a considerable amount of the ones who called themselves my friends have already suggested to Thor that they could keep an eye on my doings in case I betrayed them.”

         The flaw in that plan is so blatant it’s preposterous. If everybody’s concentrating on Loki instead of fighting properly, it’s going to be a real catastrophe. I don’t believe he’s going to betray anyone tomorrow, but we have to find a way to quiet the others’ doubts, prove them they’re wrong, and above all have them focus on their goddamn job. He probably won’t like it if I suggest that, but he needs to be under the supervision of someone, someone who might – of course. It’s crystal-clear; I like it when my brain works properly. I grant Loki a satisfied smile. “Your brother,” I say.

         “Adoptive brother,” he corrects me.

         I snort. “Oh please. This is getting beyond ridiculous.”

         I get yet another glare, but I think he’s far too curious of what else I have to say to push the Thor matter any further. “What of him?”

         “You go to him and him only. Don’t spend half an hour explaining why, but you tell him you want to pair up with him in the battle. There must be a sort of attack you can do together.”

         He’s starting to smile again. “And how will that help?”

         I’m sure he’s already guessed, but I tell him nevertheless, because I’m pleased with myself. “It has multiple effects. One: the others are reassured and can focus on kicking the enemies’ ass.” He doesn’t even wince anymore when I swear, I notice. “Two: it shows everyone that you’re as valuable a fighter as any other, since you were complaining about that the other day. And three: it proves your father and the world that you and Thor have made peace, thus establishing you as a worthy son again.” I extend three fingers. “One action; three brilliant results. How’s that for a ground breaking idea?”

         I observe him carefully as he thinks it over. Twice he opens his mouth, maybe to object something, but he doesn’t say a word and eventually the contended look he sported when he arrived earlier appears on his face again. “Maybe I was wrong, after all.” His tone itself should be a warning that he’s up to something. I ignore that.

         “Wrong? What about?”

         “You’re _that_ good.” That’s it; I’m feeling warm all over again and my legs go watery. I try what I hope is a smug smile, but from the amused look on Loki’s face it’s a failure. He slides the tip of his tongue over his teeth as if carefully picking his words, tasting them before speaking. “I think I just found out how you guessed people were vulnerable to flattery. You can’t resist a compliment, can you?” He’s right; of course he is. He’s basically pointing at the trap he wants me to fall in. And I don’t think I’m going to do anything to avoid it. “How can someone so proud ever think about committing suicide?”

         _You should know_ , I think. “The answer is in the question: pride. I’m not meek; I’m not humble.” _And when I want something, I always get it._ It applies to men, women, and aliens too. I make a point of keeping my breathing pattern even, to prove I’m still in control. For the moment, that is. “I don’t accept things as they are,” I conclude.

         “Maybe you should, sometimes. Look at the… how would you say it? The mess you’re in!”

         I laugh. “I don’t think so. I’m sort of used to the mess I’m in.” I turn around and sit again in my chair; pretend to think for a second, and then look up at him. “Actually, I think I _enjoy_ being in such a mess.”

         He circles the sofa and comes to sit too. Good; it means he doesn’t want to leave right away. “You truly like being a nuisance, don’t you?” I nod. “I’d gathered that from your… well, unexpected intervention during Balder’s stupid game.”

         “Unexpected? Please, you literally thrust the card under my nose to catch my attention and see how I’d react!” Sense decides to give up altogether when I see the pseudo innocent look on his face. “I never thought it would get _that_ messy, though,” I muse.

         “I _will_ admit I did it on purpose if you tell me why exactly you defended me instead of saying I had cheated.” There’s a soft incentive in his pupils, a teasing twinkle I can’t ignore.

         To hell with everything. Battle is engaged. “I don’t know. He was getting on my nerves, assuming you were going to cheat anyway. And in any case it wasn’t your fault, or mine. Both of us were ready to let the matter lie, but Thor reacted so violently even _you_ couldn’t have predicted it.” His lips curl up as he hears the irony in my tone. “Am I wrong?” I really think I’m at the top of my art, right now. Or maybe I’ve had too much mead. Or maybe I’m just elated. But I’m pretty sure I’m not going to lose.

         He considers me for a minute; I wonder what he’s thinking. “You know,” he ends up saying, “my father and my – brother would have you make me better. I told them I’d never let myself be manipulated by an ordinary woman; I’m not as weak as Thor. But somehow I think I don’t have to fear that from you.”

         I lean closer. “You don’t. I won’t even try.”

         He laughs carelessly. “You don’t think I can be changed?”

         I sit back and cross my legs, and he averts his eyes. “I don’t think you _want_ to change. And I don’t see why you should.” Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to explain that this is what I really believe, not a simple seduction trick. But that will have to wait, I have more to say. “And above all, I don’t care.”

         He seems puzzled. “You don’t care?”

         “Yes, Loki, I don’t care. I don’t care what are the Allfather’s plans for you and me; I don’t… care if you continue despising my race; I don’t care if your brother fell in love with a human or with an octopus; I don’t care if you choose to follow my advice and forget about Earth, or if you decide you’ve had enough and come to massacre us.”

         I can tell his brain is whirring hard to figure out why I should confess all of that right now. “What… What do you care about, then? Why do you still want to live? Why do you keep on doing… everything you do?”

         And that’s when I’m expected to answer that I do it for one person only. But I look straight into his eyes before whispering, “I care about the game. I need to keep my mind entertained.”

         He holds my stare. “Entertained…”

         I lean closer again. “Please don’t say there’s any other purpose to what _you_ do.” His eyes fly from one detail of my face to the other. This is working better than what I’d thought. “I wouldn’t believe you if you did,” I conclude.

         “The Reason Why,” he barely mouths the words and smiles.

         Ok, so I don’t care about the battle tomorrow, he _is_ staying. I’m not letting him leave after that. I shoot up and he starts, looking confused. “In any case,” I whisper, “just try not to get captured, tomorrow. All of this wouldn’t be as fun if I knew you were being tortured in some dark corner of space.”

         “I can handle pain.”

         His overconfident tone makes me smile and I slide a finger under his chin to lift his head up. “I don’t doubt it a second. But I still want you to come back to me.” And I kiss him before he answers, whatever it is he was about to say. I can feel him hesitate, but I force his lips open and grin when my tongue touches his teeth.

         His hands run up my legs and he pulls himself up, throwing me off balance again – damn those heels – and I have to cling to him to avoid stumbling. I bet he enjoys it. He smiles and kisses me harder. I pretend I’m going to escape his grip again but he acts as if it didn’t matter, as if he knew I was faking; I don’t know exactly how that happens but he whirls me around and now there’s nowhere I can go, not with the back of the sofa behind me and both his hands on my hips, keeping me where I am. There’s nowhere I want to go, anyway. I fumble with the straps and belts and hooks that prevent me from reaching his skin, whispering curses on his lips. He doesn’t seem to notice as his fingers swiftly start to unfasten the dozens of buttons on the side of my dress.

         This is getting exactly where I wanted it to go; it’s perfect. I stop thinking for a second when I feel his hands sliding up to close around my face, feeling for every inch of my body. It echoes all the way to my fingernails and my teeth; I want him. Now. This is not perfect, this is taking too long. I wrap my freed left leg around his hips and give a sudden pull to make him come closer, even if this close isn’t close enough yet. It sends a few buttons flying across the room; I don’t care; I – said – now.

         Oh, dear, how many hands does this guy have? I think there’s one around my neck and fingers crawling up my inner thigh. I shiver and decide to give up even trying and let him lead the dance. I cling to sensations only, treasuring every moment of expectation.

         And then his fingers stop crawling, his lips stop kissing, he’s letting go of me, slowly pushing my leg down. “Gnn,” is all I manage to utter. _Come back; what are you doing?_

         He straightens and directs his eyes towards something on the floor. Slowly looks up again with an evil smile, yes evil, when it goes that far it’s called evil, and he pinches his lips, stifling laughter. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “It was a… mistake. I shouldn’t have presumed…”

         _Don’t you dare do that to me, I swear it to all the gods I know of and those I don’t care about that if you do that I will make you pay._ But none of these words pass my lips. I can’t speak; I can only stare at him.        

         “I’m sorry,” he says again, “try not to break anything.” And just like that he leaves me there. I’m too proud to go after him, and in any case I’m rooted to the spot by anger and stupefaction. So I throw a shoe at the door.

         I miss and it lands on the side-table, making a bowl fall and crash on the floor. _Try not to break anything_. I can’t believe it; I can’t fucking believe it! He told me to try and not break anything! I’ll wreck the room, shred the curtains, shatter the lamps and burn the books; that will serve him well. He left me there and laughed at me; try not to break anything… I take my other shoe off and toss it far away too with a cry of rage. As if I couldn’t handle the frustration of having to get over the great, wonderful, irresistible Loki leaving me half-naked in my room.

         Shame scorches my throat. Sarcasm is still around, anyway, but I used to be able to control that sort of shame. I start walking around to quiet the sense of humiliation thickening my blood because that’s the only thing I can do about it. It doesn’t work. I realize I’m crying in rage, and I feel even more ridiculous, and small, and childish. And ridiculous again. I was an idiot, believing I could handle the game here, where I have no idea of the rules, where I have close to no control over things. Once more I hear myself whisper it was the worst idea ever. I slump to the floor and sit on the carpet. How could I be so stupid?

         I played by the rules I knew, the rules I made; it was foolish and I can’t quiet the stinging, nagging impression that somehow, I deserve what happened to me. Of course the weaknesses I’d taken for granted in Loki’s personality were just fake, pretence, a mask among many others. I can see it now, he probably got a great lot of fun out of watching me blush at his compliments, flaunt my so-called skills and all the rest. I thought I was clever; I thought I’d seen through him; I thought I could play with him just as I used to play with men. Oh gods, I even thought I’d made him ‘open up’ to me!

         I start repeatedly hitting the ground with my closed fist. _Stupid_ – slam – _pathetic_ – slam – _weak_ – slam – _arrogant_ – ouch. I have many, many more adjectives coming up to mind but my hand hurts and my head hurts and I’m feeling queasy. At the very least it helps me focus on something else than the painful shame rippling in the pit of my stomach.

         He _had_ warned me; _don’t tell people what you want to hear from them_. I overlooked the advice. He knew what I wanted and he let me think I was winning when he was playing, all the time he was playing, making good use of my anger and my taste for being a pest. That’s… despicable of him.

         Why the hell is ‘despicable’ the only word that comes to my mind? Come on, Eileen, it isn’t the first time, you know how to call these guys who won’t let themselves be toyed with. “You’re a piece of shit and I hate you!” I cry out loud. Then I look around; I hope nobody heard. More shame piles up inside me and I wish I could just go to sleep right where I am and never wake up again.

         I’ve already been here; I’ve seen this place before; I’ve walked that path not so long ago. I knew it would have to happen again, but not now, not so soon after Stuart. But I guess it was only logical that I fell into the same trap: believing they cared enough to do anything for me. I get up, take the dress off and toss it away. A warm bath should help me calm down.

         As I soak in scalding water, I gradually understand that what hurt most wasn’t having lost at my own game again, but that they, be them Stu or Loki or any other one, could have enough self-control to reject me whereas I wanted them to be delighted I ever paid attention to them. How could I be so full of pride? And yet all I wanted was them to crawl at my feet begging for a token of affection, after all. Why couldn’t they do that for me?

         Yes, if all things were at my will, that’s what would happen. “Am I not pathetic?” I ask the bath tub.

         My question echoes under the high ceiling but nobody answers. I’m so weary of everything I fear I might fall asleep in the water so I step out, wipe the smears of melted khôl tears and steam have left down my cheeks, and then go bury my body, my frustration and my shame under the blankets. Sleep is all I have left.

* * *

 

         It’s high noon when I eventually wake up from the warm, heavy slumber I’d sunk into. I feel almost peaceful for a minute, but my blurry thoughts clear up and soon the bitter aftertaste of shame comes back to me. I push it far, far away inside and decide I’d better keep busy if I don’t want to spend the day randomly roaming the corridors. Then I realize something: in a few hours, I’ll be told I’m going home. Because there’s no way I can imagine them losing. I haven’t a clue how they’re going to fight. Do they have weapons? Maybe I should’ve asked. I took so many things for granted.

         Yeah, maybe I should have asked. Maybe I should have showed more concern about all this. I guess that’s the sort of thing women who are waiting at home for the warriors to come back usually worry about. I don’t even know how long it will take or where they are or when they’re supposed to come back.

         And what will happen if they lose? Will the enemies come here and kill us all? Will I die in Asgard? Will I ever see Loki again?

         I have to stop thinking about it. I have to remember they can’t lose, because it’s not written that way. I rummage in my pile of opened books to find the _Prose Edda_ again and I browse it, carefully avoiding every mention of Loki and of the way he carelessly wagered his life so many times, sure he would always find a way out, of his wife Sigyn and of the children he has with one of his kind, with a giant, of his imprisonment and of his end, of everyone’s end, because none of it has happened here yet and I don’t want to read about it. As I leaf through the accounts of Thor’s greatness I wonder how many untold battles were fought in all the other… projections? Would that be a proper word? Maybe what’s happening now already occurred somewhere but nobody found it worth mentioning. Maybe there’s more to come but it was never important enough to ripple and disturb the permanent story. I’m not important enough to be in the story, after all; who cares about Loki’s meeting with a mortal? And why did I ever think I could be?

         Again, I have to stop thinking about it. It won’t help if I imagine what might have happened elsewhere or elsewhen, or both. I start roaming the room for the small silk-covered buttons that fell from my dress the night before. But when I stop concentrating on these matters, it’s the thought of Loki fighting that comes lurking in the background of my mind. He knows what he’s doing, I’m sure about that. But still… I refuse to allow more speculation because I don’t want to try out what I’d feel like if I do. Bitter? Angry? Afraid? I don’t even want to know.

         I idle some time away by taking another bath, then picking up the clothes scattered around everywhere, selecting the more comfortable ones and then I pile them up neatly inside the drawers and chests.

         Then I sort the books out according to how much I want to read them; which is stupid, since I’ll be leaving soon. I force myself to close the _Eddas_ and put them away too, or I know I won’t be able to stop reading the same passages again and again.

         By the time I’ve gone through all the books, night is slowly crawling in through the windows. None of my apartments ever seemed so clean and tidy. I guess I needed the worry of waiting for… friends to come back from danger to make me understand how repetitive work can help cope with life as a whole. Maybe when I get home I won’t go incognito to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and I’ll find a position in a factory. It might help me forget.

         I switch every lamp on, because tonight I just can’t face the dark, and I try reading. I can’t do that either. I persist, though, I’m obstinate and don’t give up that easily, so I manage to kill two other hours by taking detailed notes from an essay on the cultural importance of mirrors. I liked the idea.

         Then I think I fall asleep on the table, because I wake up a few more hours later with a violent start. I can tell it won’t be long before sunrise and my head is spinning; I realize I haven’t eaten a thing since before the party. At the exact moment I’m having this thought, something hits me: it’s strange; there was always a servant to bring me food or at the very least come to see if I needed anything. And that didn’t happen today. I blink sleep away and decide to go investigate, because even if they have a very valid reason not to have sent anyone, I need to eat something.

         The corridor is completely empty, and I wander around until I walk into someone I know is a kitchen servant. He’s one of the youngest ones, actually, and he apologizes a dozen times before urging me back to my room, explaining he’ll join me there shortly with some breakfast. I can’t help thinking all of it is weird, but I’m too exhausted to protest, so I comply; I’ll have time to find out everything I want to know when I’ve got food in my system.

         But when he arrives he looks terrified. He hesitates when I offer him to share the food with me, but he accepts after I insist and relaxes a little. It’s only halfway through my second apple that I find enough courage and energy to muster a kind smile. “Tell me what’s wrong, please,” I ask him.

         He shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

         “I know there is.”

         He continues shaking his blonde locks all over the place. “I can’t…”

         “Did they command you not to mention it?” He looks up at me, dumbfounded. “They’ve even told you not to talk to me, haven’t they?” He nods. What can have happened so serious that they refuse to let me know? Maybe they’ve won and are getting ready to erase my personality, and they’ll only come at the last moment so I don’t have time to prepare an escape. “Is that why no one came to see me?” He nods again. I have to find out. “Ok, I understand you can’t tell me. Who knows what happened?”

         “Not that many people. Not the ordinary citizens.”

         I play with the apple peels on the table top, shredding them into smaller pieces. “I swear I won’t tell on you if you explain it to me.”

         He recoils hastily. “Oh no! I would get into too much trouble!”

         I nod deliberately slowly. “I see.” I have to make him speak. “Let’s make a bargain, then. I ask questions, as many as I want, but you answer only by yes, no, or I don’t know. Nothing more, but you have to tell me the truth.” I look into his eyes. “I will know if you’re lying.” He seems to be ready to yield. “Please,” I say, contracting my fingers. “It’s important; I have to know. The waiting is killing me.” I tentatively extend a hand towards his arm; he doesn’t move. “I need to know when I’ll go home. How would you feel, it you were me? Wouldn’t you try everything to get the information?” I squeeze his forearm hard.

         He nods slowly. “Yes; No; I don’t know.”

         _Yes! Well done, Eileen._ “That’s it. No more, no less.” I keep my hand where it is for a little longer. “Are the warriors back?”

         “Yes.”

         “Did they win the battle?”

         “Yes and no.”

         _What does that mean?_ “Is the battle even over?”

         “No.”

         “So… it’s a truce?”

         “Yes and no.”

         “Is this a good sign?”

         “No.”

         All the questions whirling in my mind can’t be answered by yes or no. I have to find a way… “Did they try to keep it a secret but it spread out nonetheless?”

         He’s now staring at me and I know he’s wondering how I guessed. “Yes,” he whispers.

         “Did they try and keep it from people because they were afraid of their reaction?”

         “Yes.”

         “Did they try and keep it from _me_ because they were afraid of my reaction?”

         “Yes.”

         “Is it serious?” He nods. _Oh, no._ “Is somebody hurt?”

         “Yes,” he says. This is so not a good sign.

         “And they came back because of it, so it has to be someone important.”

         This wasn’t a question, but he answers, “Yes,” nevertheless. I realize my hands are starting to shake again and I hide them from his sight.

         I can’t make myself ask. _Come on, Eileen._ “Is it Loki?” The boy only nods. I regret eating; the fruit seems stuck somewhere in my throat, clogging my respiration. “Where is he?” I whisper. The boy shakes his head violently. “You know where he is! Tell me!” I spring up, sending the chair to the floor. He starts and fear creeps up his face. “You have to tell me,” I yell at him.

         “No; no I can’t, they said you couldn’t know, that it would make you too happy, that you must not see how well your idea had worked.”

         _My idea?_ “What are you talking about?” Anger and anxiety ripple through me in violent, powerful waves of hot and cold. “Take me to him! Take me to Thor! Take me to the Allfather, to anyone!” My scream is louder than what I thought it could ever be. He gets up too and walks a few steps backwards. My eyes fall on the tray he brought; there’s a knife, a sharp knife I peeled the apples with. I seize it, barely managing to keep my trembling fingers around the handle. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, but I guess pointing it at the boy’s face should be considered as threatening.

         It is; he turns very pale and starts calling for help. “Don’t hurt me,” he pleads.

         “I won’t touch you if you tell me where he is!”

         “They’ve transported him to the healing room. Guards!” he calls out again. _Guards… the healing room…_ something clicks as two armed men burst into my apartment. I turn my back to them as I confusedly hear the boy explain I have a knife.

         I close my left hand around said knife and swiftly slide the blade down. If there’s pain, I don’t feel it. I turn towards the guards again and show them my hand. There’s blood running down my forearm; I had no idea it would make such a mess. It smells of metal. “Guards, please, I need help!” The shaking might be of use, I realize. “I’ve cut my hand, I know it’s supposed to mend on its own, but it’s deep and I can’t stand the sight of blood.” I wobble on my feet and one of the guards rush to my help. The blonde servant is too stunned to speak and even obeys when the other guard commands him to find a piece of cloth. They tie it over my hand and take me away, and I’m actually grateful that they’re almost carrying me; I’m feeling faint and so queasy, the world blurry with a purplish haze. And it’s not because of the blood. I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do once I’m in the healing room. I just know I have to be there.

 


	11. How observant, Weaver

         I’m steadier when we arrive. It’s better because there are many people, far too many people packed there. The guards freeze when they see the crowd, and I take advantage of their surprise to wrench free and slip between the tensed Asgardians craning their necks towards the other end of the room. I work my way through, unnoticed at first, but soon someone recognizes me; a woman. I don’t know who she is, but she knows who I am and she stares in horror at the smears of blood on my clothes. Oh. I’d forgotten about that. Not exactly reassuring. “What is _she_ doing here?” she shrieks, and I have to duck under a few arms to avoid being caught.

         But I don’t go very far; strong, warm arms close around me and the next second Sif’s voice covers the shouts. “So you thought you would come and admire your work?”

         I wriggle, not to escape, but to face her. I know that if I can look her in the eye I’ll win her over. “Let go of me. Whatever happened, it wasn’t my fault. You have to believe me.”

         She whirls me around and it’s as if I was looking down on her, despite her being taller than I am. “Why should I?” she asks. “I won’t let you see him.”

         She does seem smaller. “Oh, yes you will. And I’ll tell you why. You will take me to Loki because deep down you know I’m right, that you’re only doing this to catch Thor’s attention and that you’re also relieved it might be my doing, since it would mean mortal women are wrong for your people and maybe, in that case, he will forget the other one and come back to you.” I can trace hesitation in her pupils. “Don’t deny it, Sif. You don’t care about Loki.”

         She narrows her eyes. “And you do?”

         It’s my turn to hesitate. My brain stalls over the fact because I’m still so angry at him, and upset; but then why am I here? “I owe him my life,” I whisper. It doesn’t have to mean I care, but it’s the sort of reason strong enough for me not to want to kill him. In any case that’s how I hope it works in Sif’s mind. It does; she eases her grip and starts dragging me across the room, towards a corner far on the left. “What happened?” I ask.

         “We’re not sure. I didn’t see a thing but as far as I understood it, enemies had cornered Loki somewhere and he couldn’t escape. After that, the only words we’ve heard from Thor were ‘Why did he ever believe her? What have I done?’ and then silence.” My voice doesn’t respond to the impulse to speak, so I simply nod. Sif makes way for us and even if some people frown at me, they don’t dare stop us.

         Moving becomes difficult when I see the figure lying on a table. Loki is just there, a few metres away from me, motionless, eyes closed, his pale face scratched and a little bruised, a trail of blood down his cheek, but otherwise peaceful. I’m cold and hot at the same time, and I don’t know what I look like but when Sif turns around to see why I’m not following her she stares, puzzlement and worry struggling on her features. “Are you well?” she whispers. I give a quick nod, commanding my legs to walk again. I swallow but my tongue feels like sandpaper, and I think I’ve bitten my lips raw because I can taste blood mingling with saliva down my throat. My brain processes its surroundings. There are many people around the table; Balder, other warriors I don’t know, a few women, Odin, sitting on a chair, his head buried in his arms. And Thor. I can only see his back. The hammer lies at his feet. Someone very inconveniently starts playing drums in between my temples and it echoes under my skull. I swallow again and follow Sif. “Let us through!” she’s saying, and her voice pierces my ears.

         Thor straightens up and looks over his shoulder. His drawn face contracts when he sees me, making me tense up. I try to ignore him; I don’t care if they’re angry, I have to reach that table, I have to see Loki, make sure he is –; be certain he isn’t –.

         “Why did you bring her here?” There are giant tears in the blonde god’s voice. “She poisoned him with her words!”

         “She said it wasn’t her fault,” Sif explains calmly, “and I believe her.”

         Thor’s finger pointing in my direction doesn’t make me more afraid because there isn’t anything such as more afraid. Anguish has already frozen my lungs and I can barely breathe. “She enticed him into risking his life for her and take her to Earth, convinced all of us that he belonged in that battle. She knew it would bring only harm and pain!” I shake my head. _It’s not true_ , I want to say, but the words don’t come.

         Odin’s whisper carries all the weariness in the world. “Thor; please.”

         “How am I the only one to see it? She managed to ensnare even you, Father! She wanted Loki to fight. She wanted him to get hurt.”

         “Why would she want such a thing? He saved her life!”  I know I should be surprised that Sif is defending me so passionately, but I’ve stopped caring. For real, this time. I used to say I didn’t care. It was a lie.

         “Did none of you hear her? She didn’t want life!” Thor grabs my wrist and pulls hard, yanking me closer to the table. “Look at what you’ve done!”

         “Stop this, Thor,” his father says.

         I don’t know how I speak. “What happened?” Nobody answers. I extend my wounded hand and reach for Loki’s fingers; they are cold; far too cold; so much colder than I can remember.

         “Don’t you dare touch him!”

         I feel the world whirl, but actually it’s me who turned to face Thor. Red hot rage is pumping in my blood, seeping in my veins, melting the anxiety away, all the way down to my fingernails and all the way up to my gums. “Tell. Me. What. Happened.”

         I thought he’d refuse, or decide to hit me, or laugh at my face, but he slightly frowns and speaks. “My brother came after the party and asked me if we could try fighting together, like we used to when we were younger. He said we’d be much more deadly if he baited the enemies to me and I destroyed them. I agreed, he was absolutely right, and today his strategies proved efficient until we were eventually taken apart. That’s when we understood that the enemy wanted Loki alive. But I don’t need to tell you that, you probably knew it all along.” Thor using sarcasm? What the hell is happening here? I blink once or twice.

         “Loki was cornered on the top of a small pike when he called out to us,” the blonde god continues. “He pointed at the other end of the battle field, where Balder was being outnumbered too. Loki yelled something at me, something I didn’t understand, and then he jumped right into the pack of monsters below him. All the rest of them instantly rallied from all sides.”

         “And you let him do that?” I don’t immediately realize I’ve just shouted at the strongest man here. Too late.

         “I thought it was a trick! That it would attract the enemies there and he would walk out unharmed from behind some rock, as he always did, so I sent the hammer twice into the pack before understanding it was the real Loki.”

         The world is blurring, outlines of the people disappearing in a purplish haze that envelops everything. My lips move but I can’t hear what comes out. I lose control and hurl myself at Thor, who backs away in surprise. I try punching him, hard, I want to hurt him, even if I know very well that whatever I do he won’t get more than a scratch, and he gets hold of both my wrists. I cry out in rage, “What happened after that?”

         “I called for help and we scattered the enemies, but Loki was already down. I don’t know if it was the monsters or the hammer that hurt him the hardest, but–”

         “THEN WHY DID YOU SAY IT WAS MY FAULT?”

         He keeps on speaking as if I had never made a noise. “But when I knelt next to him he was still able to speak. He smiled. ‘Well, that was unexpected enough; even for the weaver. Don’t forget to tell her,’ he said, and then he lost consciousness.” Someone wails. Maybe it’s me. But it doesn’t sound like me. I blink again, trying to clear the purple mist from my vision.

         Sif’s voice reaches my ears. “The problem was that we couldn’t bring him back immediately. When they understood he was only injured, they swarmed on us; they didn’t want to leave him behind. We managed to fight them away, but they’re not defeated.”

         “They will come back.” It’s Balder speaking. I wonder how he even dares. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to get outnumbered… “One of them warned me; they’ve found another power source to open a gate onto Asgard. I don’t know how soon, but they’ll come for Loki, if not for the Cube.”

         I shut my eyes. “You can’t let them have him.”

         “They will never capture him,” Odin says. “We could have overwhelmed them if we had stayed to fight longer, but we had to take him back. I am still unsure whether we were quick enough to –”

         “You were,” I say. I don’t want to hear anyone say otherwise. It’s impossible. They’re immortal. _I grant you our physical resistance to injuries and pain_ , Odin’s voice echoes in my ears. _Only you or one of us can kill you._ Does that mean that if the hammer… I need to see him; I’ll tell if he’s all right, I’ll know it if they let me look at him.

         I try to turn around again but Thor’s holding me and when I try to wrench free he hauls me further from the table. “You have to leave now.”

         “I’m not going anywhere,” I spit back.

         “Don’t you think you’ve caused sufficient trouble?”

         I know he’s already feeling guilty enough but the words come out uncontrolled. “I wasn’t the one to smash my brother with a hammer!”

         Thor’s hands crush my wrists harder; there’s pain, I know it’s there, but I seem to overlook it altogether. “He said it was your idea, that you told him to do something unexpected!”

         “I would never have advised him to sacrifice his life! I…” They have to understand. “I urged him not to! I told him, I asked him to come back to me!” I feel stunned stares on me but it doesn’t matter. I crane my neck to call out to Odin. “Tell them, Allfather,” I plead. “Tell them that’s not how the story goes! It’s impossible.”

         My hopes that he would come to my help crumble when I see him look down again and shake his head. “I’m sorry, but my fears came true. You made things worse. You only made everything so much worse than it was.”

         That’s it. I’ve always wondered what happens in people’s minds when they lose it completely, and now I know. I understand. The world becomes quieter, clearer, crystal-clear indeed, the purple haze still there but not blurring my vision any more. I’m not feeling dizzy or shaky or afraid, I’m just angry. A calm, cold anger. “Oh,” I say, slowly pulling my wrists free; Thor lets go and I turn to face the King of Asgard. “You must be so glad that I can take the blame for that. Don’t deny it; I know what you feared and what you hoped. You’re grieving, but there’s a small part of you that can’t help being relieved.”

         “What are you talking about?” Thor asks.

         But I ignore him and hold his father’s gaze. “Maybe you would have preferred to see Balder lying there. It would mean the end of all worries to you, wouldn’t it? It would mean that you failed to change anything, but at the very least you’d know what to expect, right? Because when you were cherishing your little hopes and dreams that the end might be different this time, you never thought it would turn out like that.”

         Odin gets up and his fury is palpable. Perfect. If he kills me now all of this will be over for good. “How dare you?” he booms.

         He’s formidable, in his pain and rage. His eye meets mine and I read of the countless battles and victories and defeats, of all the might he used up to try and save his world, failing every time. I know he wants to stare me down with the sheer strength of his wisdom and authority and timeless memory, but I let all of it pass through me in a long, weary shudder. If I try to resist I’ll die, so I make his pain mine, because I’m one of the few who knows too, after all. It seems that his ancient power fuels my new one, and the room is so small all of a sudden, too small for both our wraths. Thor tries to catch me again, but I push him away. Some unidentified person comes next and I knock him or her down with the back of my hand. I hear people scream and run around.

         My own voice echoes purple. “Did you really know what you were doing when you accepted me here, Allfather?” Yes, my voice actually sounds purple to my ears. What is happening to me?

         “I made you, Eileen Victoire Weaver.”

         _Bitter triumph indeed._ “Yes,” I say, “you made me one of yours, but do you know what it means?” I don’t know what my own words mean; I’m not the one speaking. But I’m not scared; I have the steady certitude that I’ll never be scared of him again.

         “It means that I can unmake you if needed.”

         I shake my head. “You won’t have to fight me. I will –”

         “Why do you always have to be so loud, Eileen?”

         Loki’s voice was but a whisper, but it compels me and Odin to forget about our quarrel. As I look down towards the table I feel like I’m shrinking back into my own body. I bend over Loki’s face; his eyes are still closed and I fear I might have imagined he was speaking to me. “Can you hear me?”

         His lips twitch into a half-smile. “Who wouldn’t?”

         One minute before I was verbally assaulting the father of all gods, ready to fight the entire realm of Asgard if needed, and now I can feel stinging tears of relief streaming down my cheeks. I can’t stay on my feet and pull myself up onto the table. “You’re not dead,” I say, brushing hair from his face. I shouldn’t do that; there are people around. People watching.

         “How observant, Weaver.” I think his voice is getting stronger, I can hear it clearly now, but maybe actually it’s still a mere whisper, because I can see the faces surrounding us straining to listen.

         “We thought you were never coming back,” Thor says.

         Loki opens his eyes and stares right at my face. “I would have hated not finishing… the work I had started.”

         That makes my stomach hurt with impossible euphoria and I struggle not to kiss him. Or hit him, not so sure. “Shut up,” I hiss through clenched teeth so only he can hear me. “I’m still mad at you.”

         Thor interferes, “You’re not going back to fight, brother!”

         I turn and laugh at his face. “No, that’s not –” but Loki’s hand suddenly crushes my fingers and I realize what I almost said. “That’s not an option, of course,” I finish hastily. There’s a short silence, and now that he’s safe the reality of how I behaved over the past half-hour dawns on me. I understand I went too far. That I got involved too deep; that I didn’t know where to stop. I look up at Odin and he seems to have forgotten all his rage as he smiles at us in a gentle, fatherly way.

         Oh dear. I was ready to defy, I _was_ defying the most ancient and powerful of all the people here, because I thought Loki was dead; I thought I had nothing to lose.

         Oh no. I have to put an end to this immediately.

         Flirting, shame, desire, anger; all these I can manage. But I can’t afford… no. Absolutely not; I become too stupid when I start really caring. That’s why I never care. That’s why I never allow myself to care.

         My eyes sweep back down to Loki’s face, and he frowns when he notices my expression has changed, even if he’s the only one to see it.

         I have to destroy the bridge that has started to build itself over the gap between us. I need distance. But not right now. I can’t just walk away and pretend I don’t care anymore; I don’t want to leave him here. Not like that. And it’s too late anyway, everybody has seen how I reacted. _So, if it’s too late, what’s the problem?_ some voice asks inside me, but I silence it.

         Loki’s fingers close tighter over mine again and it sends now dreaded shivers all over my body; I can’t believe that a few days ago I would have dreamed of that… He tries sitting up, but falls back the next instant, his face a mask of pain.

         “Don’t even try,” I tell him. “Your brother thought your enemies weren’t doing good enough a job with you on their own so he helped a little.”

         “I wouldn’t have expected any less of him.” He smiles faintly then rubs his forehead. “It’s hot and noisy in here, isn’t it?”

         I turn to Sif. “Get all these people out. They shouldn’t have been there in the first place and they’ve seen too much already.” She looks around and wavers a little. “Just do as I say,” I add, and it feels strange seeing that she does, but not as strange as catching the glimpse of fear in her eyes.

         Thor, Balder and a handful of others go to help her disperse the people from around the table. “Why was your voice so… unnatural, earlier?” Loki asks.

         I look up at Odin and he faintly shakes his head. I understand; now is not the time to wonder what happened. There will be time to find an explanation, if there is one to be found. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell Loki. He frowns. “My voice was normal but you were only half-conscious.”

         He pinches his lips. “That doesn’t account for what I heard.”

         “Why not? You were, and still are, in a lot of pain.”

         “That I am,” he says. “But I can still tell when you’re lying to me, Weaver.” He laughs softly and shudders in pain.

         I know I can’t allow it and yet I do nothing to quiet the urge to take him in my arms and keep him there until I ease all the pain away. If any sort of monster wants to steal him from me, let them come and try. But that’s a ridiculous thought, and I don’t move an inch.

         “You have to rest now,” Thor says over my shoulder. “We all have to. We need to restore our strength and prepare for the next battle.”

         I nod and gently disentangle our fingers. The blood-crusted cloth around my hand is half untied, and I pull it off; the wound on my palm is red and raw but at the very least it has stopped bleeding. I still can’t tell if it hurts. Loki’s forefinger slowly trails the red gash, his frown indicating he’s wondering where it comes from. “I’ll explain that later. Your brother’s right, you need rest.” I get up and let Thor walk me away.

   

* * *

     

         As the doors close, I try to catch a final glimpse of Loki. I shouldn’t leave him alone, I think, and I have half a mind to run back, but it’s too late because Odin joins us outside the room and sighs. “That was a long day and a long night,” he says. The sun is slowly rising and he’s looking straight at it.

         I nod, scanning his face, and decide I’d better ask. “You probably want nothing more than sleep right now, but I have to know: how long before they’re able to attack us?”

         “I’m not sure, but –” he hesitates.

         “But what?”

         He shakes his head and gestures his son to speak. “No matter how long it takes them to open a gateway,” Thor explains, “it won’t be enough for us to be ready. We could have won today because we surprised them, but if they come here we’ll have to organize protection of the population as well as try to destroy them.”

         “You can’t be saying that they’re too much for you.”

         “There are too many of them. We had barely destroyed ten that twenty, thirty others swarmed on us.”

         “But Loki told me –”

         Odin interrupts me. “Loki underestimated the enemy’s force.”

         “Or overestimated yours,” I can’t help pointing out. Neither of the other two reacts. “What are you going to do?”

         “I’m not sure yet,” Odin answers bitterly. “I have to admit I never thought about ‘after’ when I decided to retreat back here.”

         “It was the only thing to do, Father.”

         “Of course it was. But once again we’re in an impossible situation because of your brother,” the old king explains.

         I realize that I’ve been expecting this all along. And I know what to answer, so I smile. “Precisely; and he will get us out of this situation.”

         Thor frowns. “How will he do that?”

         “Well…” I’m not sure if I should speak; I don’t know if they really need me to be of any support.

         “Maybe,” Odin starts, then pauses to look at me. “Maybe you could help.”

         Ok, so I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you. “I could. And I’ll do everything I can, but I’m not explaining any of the ideas I have right now. First of all, I have to think, and I need peace and quiet for that.”

         “And second,” the old man says with a half-smile, “you won’t say a single word without Loki being here.” I nod. “You have a very peculiar way of choosing who you express loyalty to, Eileen Weaver.”

         Thor frowns at me, then at his father, but since neither of us care to explain he folds his arms across his chest and sighs. I take a deep breath. I wish it was as easy for me as it seems to be for Odin to make the right decision. “It’s just for the time being, Allfather. As soon as all this is finished, I’ll go home. I was supposed to stay until it was safe to travel again; considering that the enemies know everything anyway, I could very well ask you to send me back at once.”

         Odin’s eye narrows. “You think you’re essential here? That you’re doing us, doing me a favour by staying here?”

         “Oh, Allfather, I’m very, very aware that I’m not doing anyone a _favour_. But I warned Loki; I always finish the work I start.”

         He smiles and I confusedly grasp that he’s starting to consider me as more than an insolent sort of pet. “Can you really finish this one?”

         I let out an aborted laugh. I’m not sure what he’s trying to make me say, but I’ve already made up my mind and he won’t change anything. “I decide when it’s over. And it will be over soon.”

         Odin extends one finger. That reminds me of someone and I repress a smile. “Give me _one_ valid reason for you to make this decision.”

         “All this is too much for me.”

         “Is it? It didn’t look like it a few moments ago…”

         “I was just exhausted… and very, very angry.”

         He looks at me intently and his stare tugs at whatever it was that woke up when I was in that healing room, but I’m in control again, so nothing happens. “If you say so,” he eventually whispers.

         I know this is his way of making me understand something, but the problem is that I don’t _want_ to understand. I want to stay in total control of what happens to me, and that’s clearly impossible here so I have to leave. It’s as simple as that. “I said that I was going home.”

         “I can’t decide in your place. You’re bright enough to have understood what it means if you leave, as well as what it means if you stay.”

         Ok, so he’s lost me with that sentence; I thought he didn’t want me here. I frown at him. “No; that’s exactly why I _can’t_ stay. There’s no way for me, or even for you, to tell what is to become of me; I’ve only heard of the outlines of the story and I _know_ I’m not in it. I have to leave at one point, and I’d rather decide when that will happen myself, if you don’t mind.”

         He tenses up at my snapping and the sense of understanding that had briefly existed between us has vanished now and Odin’s face is an unreadable mask again. He sighs. “We all need the peace and quiet you were craving for. But I want to see you with Thor and Loki tomorrow morning at the latest.” He waits for my agreement and walks away with his son, leaving me at my lonely way back to my rooms.

         As I slip inside my cold bed, a thought lingers in my mind, like an itch that I refuse to scratch. _What_ would it mean for me if I decided to stay? What if I accepted not controlling everything, what if I tried to trust them, trust Odin, trust… trust Loki? But I can’t allow such thinking; I can see that very well.

         Contrary to what I had feared, sleep comes to me in an instant.

 


	12. We must lie to them

         It barely took five days of planning retaliation to bury that somewhat budding trust deep under snapping and irritation. Today Odin seems particularly angry at me and I’m fuming, because they asked for my help and none of them listens to what I have to say. They keep interrupting me and it’s getting on my nerves. It’s just as if he’s trying to make me angry again, taunt me to see what I’ll dare say. Well, here’s news: I can play that game too; making people lose control is one of my special tricks, actually.

         “Agreeing to call to the humans and the Frost Giants for help was a difficult step to take already, and now you’re telling me I have to accept their terms?” The King of Asgard apparently hates having to ask for something.

         “Well,” I answer as calmly as I can, “you didn’t expect them to rush into it with a smile, did you? Be so happy to help they’d come without a second thought?” I shake my head.

         “I am not giving away our technology or our weapons to secure their intervention! And anyway, if we lose, they will have to fight this army sooner or later.”

         “I’m not asking you to give anything away, but we can’t bargain with nothing,” I shout. Jesus Christ, these people have such a high opinion of themselves. I slide to the floor and sit in the lotus position. Is this for real? I find myself asking again. The question hadn’t occurred in a while, but now… I sigh.

         We’ve all gathered in the healing room to avoid Loki unnecessary effort, and Odin is eying me from the corner where he’s standing.

         “I’m sorry,” I tell him, “but there aren’t many ways out of it. You have to make a deal with them. And if you’ll just let me speak, you will see that –”

         Odin holds up a hand. “I have made my decision, and I’m sure my sons approve. Your idea is rejected. We will tell our… potential allies that it can’t be done.” I look at Thor and he averts his eyes; I look at Loki, and he doesn’t move. I sigh again, angrily this time.

         “They were very clear,” Thor says in a sullen voice. “S.H.I.E.L.D. will not come to our assistance without some sort of compensation.” He sighs. “And the giants refuse even negotiation until they have their weapons back.”

         “Then we will do without their help.” Loki spoke softly, with no trace of anger or irony or conceit, but I still have the urge to slap him, and slap him hard. He still hasn’t recovered, far from it since the injuries he’s suffered were more serious that’s what he’s ever been through. Even right now he can’t even stand straight and he’s leaning on the door-frame. And yet I’m always losing patience with him. I’ve tried to analyse it, but the only conclusion I reached is that I want to prove him and myself that I don’t care by being short-tempered. Of course I’m allowed to call myself stupid, I deserve it.

         If he doesn’t want to help, he could at the very least avoid contradicting me. Yeah, dream on, Eileen… I spring up and march to him. “And how exactly are you planning to fend these monsters off?” I snap. “Do you want to call and apologize? Maybe send them a little gift, a nice card, a box of chocolates?” He just shakes his head and that makes me even angrier. “Ok, in that case, I’m out of here. You want to do it your way, fine. But don’t ask anything else from me.” I turn my back to him. If they don’t like my ideas, they can all go fuck themselves. “I’ve got a life to rebuild, back on Earth,” I tell them, but before I can open the doors I feel Loki’s hand on my shoulder.

         I glare up at him, hoping he’ll understand I’m not faking anger, but he slowly slides his fingers around the nape of my neck, pulling me closer. “Is that really how Eileen Weaver is leaving Asgard?” he whispers into my ear. “I remember hearing that you always finish your work.” It makes me shiver. I don’t want to leave; he knows I don’t. I close my eyes, breathe in, out, in again, and then yield to the impulse his hand is giving me to turn around.

         “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” I’m stuck here… I knew that if I started caring I would become an idiot. Without Loki none of this would have happened, and I was so sure he’d help find a suitable way out; but he isn’t. I also know what I’d suggest if I didn’t care. Not that they’d accept it, it would be even more shocking to them that I even mentioned handing Loki over that I’d probably end up in a jail or something. And yet, he’d deserve it. This thought fades away as his hand moves down my spine and come to a rest on the small of my back. Come on, Eileen, get a grip on yourself. It’s just a hand. You can’t make decisions based on such ridiculous considerations; this is war, remember? A war this man, who’s now playing with your belt, has provoked. And he ought to be at least worried about how you’re all going to survive. I can feel something, the solution maybe, tugging at the back of my brain. I can hear it calling to me, I’m sure it can’t be very far. I let my eyes wander aimlessly around the room, and they fall on Odin, who’s smiling at us and seems far too contented by the newfound familiarity his son displays towards me. I wish there was a way of making him lose the grin.

         Great gods. That’s it; I know how I’ll convince him. And make him angry. I whisper to Loki over my shoulder, “For the sake of argument, would you rather face human justice for the people you killed, or the Frost Giant’s revenge for trying to annihilate them?” His hand freezes; the whole room freezes.

         “What are you talking about?”

         “But then,” I continue without answering him, “you’re not the one who will decide. If we’re going to have only one ally, we’d better choose wisely.”

         Thor frowns at me. “One ally?” he asks. “What does that mean, only one ally?”

         I smile. “One is better than none at all, right? I think we can ensure the help of either S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Giants almost without having to give any weapon or technology away.” I turn to Odin with a pout. “Which ones do you think would be the match? My kind has proved its worth against the armies you’re facing, and I know you have daughters who do a pretty good job of screening out the best warriors.” I almost wink, but decide it would be too dangerous. “On the other hand, the Giants were your bane for centuries, which allows me to believe in their considerable strength.”

         The one-eyed god is clearly monitoring his anger. _Yes, I’ve turned this around. What was your plan again? Forcing me to leave?_ He’s about to answer when Loki whirls me around, his arm around my waist. “Where are you going with this?”

         “You haven’t guessed yet?” I tease, staring straight at the warning in his pupils.

         “No, I haven’t.”

         _Oh, yes you have, and that’s why you’re looking at me like that._ “Well…” I wrench free and walk to the middle of the room. “I can understand that you don’t want to give something as precious and dangerous as weapons. Particularly to your most ancient enemies and to a race barely out of childhood.”

         There’s defiance in every pause between Odin’s words. “I am pleased to see we have come to an understanding on this. But you have mentioned ensuring the help of one of them and I would like to know how you intend to do that if we are not paying them back.”

         “We will pay them back, but on our terms. Terms they can’t refuse.” I repress a smile at Thor’s eager expression, taking a minute to wonder which face I’m going to observe as I explain, which one of them will have the most entertaining reaction. “Why do you think they’re asking for so much? They knew you couldn’t accept to give it.” None of them answers. “They want to get back at you and humiliate you; make you bend the knee. Make you admit you’re not that great.” I revel in the silence that follows. It won’t last long. “Now here’s my question: what do the Giants and your friends on Earth would never turn down? What do they want even more than weapons and glory?” I turn to Loki. I’ve decided to keep my eyes on his face and hope it’s worth it. “Gentlemen, allow me to present you our bargaining chip.” Haha, I knew he’d try and kill me with a glare.

         Thor growls at me. “What is this new –”

         “Unfortunately,” I speak up to cover his question, “we only have one of him. Oh wait, no, thank goodness for _that_ , actually.” I give a short smile. “It means that we have to choose who he will surrender to.”

         “Surrender?”

         “Yes, Allfather, surrender. If you tell the Giants or the humans that they can have him in exchange for their help, they’ll send soldiers the next instant.” I turn to Loki again. “It’s not an easy step to take, but after what he’s done on the battlefield to save Balder’s life, it can’t be very difficult for him, can it?” I emphasize the end of my question, carefully observing his features. The reaction is faint, but it’s there, and my suspicions are confirmed. _You and I will have to talk about that later, dear_.

         I hear, sense and guess it at the same time: Thor is marching at me, utterly irate. “So that was your plan from the beginning? Having him killed or delivering him to your kind?”

         “I never said he had to pick the humans. He can very well go to the Giants if that’s what your father commands.”

         “ARRRRH!” I stare at Odin in complete disbelief. This rage is not the dignified fury of a king; it’s a complete loss of control, and I recognize the gesture I’d already seen Loki do, extending his hand as if he wanted to strangle me from a distance. “Who do you think you are?” he yells at me.

         “I’m someone who’s trying to help. I remember you saying these very words, ‘maybe you could help.’ Was I having visions?”

         “I will not accept your behaviour another minute. Do you understand that you want to trade a god?”

         I had sworn I’d not let myself be thrown into the state I was last time, but it’s getting difficult. I’m actually yelling at them again. “What I realize is that the only other alternative is to give Loki away to these… space anomalies, and even if _you_ can consider this outcome, let me tell you that I don’t.” What the hell am I saying? That wasn’t what I’d planned. I need to regain control over this argument. “But if you decide to take that course, I want to be there when he comes back.” That’s scarcely better. I can’t make this about me. “If he ever does.”

         I expect being hit but Odin seems to be choking on what I’ve just said and Thor speaks. “How dare you suggest that my father does not know what is best for our people? How dare you doubt his concern for his son? You are telling us that he either has to sacrifice Loki’s life or this entire world. You are asking him whether he values his own son or his people more.”

         I shake my head. “No. I want him to say that he’d rather give Loki away than share your precious magic.” That’s it; I’m back on tracks. I have to complete that sentence before dying. “Or that you’re all ready to hear me out without interruption.”

         “No,” Odin says. “I’ve heard you enough. Weren’t you about to undertake the considerable task of rebuilding your mortal life before you started insulting me?”

         I arch an eyebrow; _oh, really? Now you want me to leave?_ I straighten up and bow curtly.

         “Father, no!” Loki’s voice is strained and I’m furious at myself when I notice it worries me. Damn. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

         Odin stares at Loki, then at Thor, then at Loki again and eventually at me. “Speak. Clearly. Quickly. Without playing with us.”

         I pretend to be hesitating before explaining. “It’s quite straightforward. If we want to keep most of your artefacts for yourself, we must lie to them. To everyone. To the Giants, you give half what they ask for and the promise that Loki will help rebuild the world he tried to destroy. To the humans, you grant a fraction of what they want and the promise that Loki will face justice on Earth. But you also explain that you wish to keep him in Asgard for the time being because if the situation comes to that, you want to be able to trade him for the survival of all worlds. It shows that you understand what they want, what they need, and above all that you’re not prepared to let things spiral out of control. But of course you never intend to give Loki to any of them. And I don’t need to tell you it has to be very clear to everyone that the terms of the alliance must remain absolutely secret.”

         “What happens if humans and Giants speak and understand they’ve been set up?”

         “Then we’ll see who is the most eager for your presence,” I answer Loki without looking at him. “But they will never even look at one another, be sure of that.”

         Odin looks at me. “What if they don’t believe us?”

         “It’s what they want to believe.” I side-glance at Loki and he’s faintly smiling. “That you had to compromise. They won’t let such an opportunity lie.” I walk towards the king. “Besides,” I whisper, “the best lies are all founded on some sort of truth; and despite everything you’ve been shouting at me, you know Loki has to take responsibility for his actions at some point, don’t you agree?” That was below the belt. On purpose. Of course he knows he will have to.

         “I… I don’t know. Loki, what do you think about it?”

         He looks at me and for a second I think he seems pleased; he turns his head to his father. “As long as I never _have_ to fulfil the promises, then why not.”

         “Thor?”

         “I fear this might be our only solution. I can think of no other way.” Loki’s eyes fleetingly meet mine again and biting the inside of my cheek is all I can do to prevent laughter. “How will you present the terms to them? We’ll need envoys.”

         “The Giants will accept the offer more easily if I go in person, my son,” Odin says. “And I think Weaver will gladly take care of her own.”

         “No. I think Thor will do the job better. They don’t know me, but they trust him. Sort of. And depending on how things go, I’d rather have them believe I’m an innocent hostage caught in a war that she can’t possibly comprehend than one of the liars. Especially as I’m supposed to work for them pretty soon. To be honest, I’d rather they not know at all that I’ve ever been here, do you think you can do that?”

         “If we can, how many ways out will that give you?” I don’t answer. “You will always secure at least one, won’t you?”

         I smile. “I usually have two, but your son proved that even the ultimate quit can’t be relied upon, so I’ve had to reconsider… things.”

         Odin doesn’t react to the mention of my attempted suicide other than by pinching his lips before turning to his sons. “Thor, do you accept?”

         “I am not certain to be the best one to carry out that part. I can’t lie.”

         “To them, you can,” I tell him. “And you won’t need to try very hard.”

         I hear a deep sigh and Odin frowns at me. “I still need to think about all of this. It isn’t an easy decision to make, and my only assurance that it will work is your confidence in your own skills.”

         I expected that; he wants to be sure I’m not setting up a trap. _What sort of trap would you fall into_ , I want to ask, _except maybe losing control over your anger?_ “I wager my life. If this fails, you can blame it all on me. If this fails, I’ll gladly be the bad guy who thought it all up. If this fails, you can dispose of me as you wish.” I extend my hand to shake his. I don’t know if they do that here, but whatever, the gesture is clear enough.

         “She wants to make a deal with you!” Thanks for the input, Thor. I guess your father had worked that one out on his own.

         Odin looks at my fingers. “If this fails, you will have nothing to live for and we’ll probably all die.”

         “I know,” I answer. “But I only do good thinking when I have everything to lose.”

         “I will shake hands with you over this agreement once I’ve made a decision.” I let my arm fall back down my side. Fair enough. “I will let you know before the evening. Thor, come with me, it is time we spoke to our warriors.”

 

* * *

 

         I watch the two of them walk out, Thor spinning his hammer. I wait for the doors to close behind them before asking Loki, “Does he really have to carry that thing around all the time? Nobody’s going to attack us in the healing room; he could just put it down somewhere.”

         He chuckles. “You wouldn’t want that. The hammer’s the clever one.”

         “How can you be so sure?”

         “It doesn’t growl.”

         I don’t know why this makes me laugh so much, but I feel all the tension leave my body. “So, are you satisfied with how that turned out?” I eventually ask.

         Loki is still leaning on the wall next to the doors. He scans every inch of me in silence before answering. “You know that Thor is going to ruin it, don’t you? They will immediately know I have no intention of surrendering to them, and they might refuse.”

         “I _want_ Thor to ruin it, or I would have gone there myself,” I tell him. He waits for me to expose my idea. “These people are clever enough to see the trap, but they will accept the deal anyway, thinking they’ve outwitted the mighty dwellers of Asgard by pretending not to see anything. And when it becomes blatant that you won’t turn up, they’ll cry and complain and ask for another sort of compensation.”

         “Such as?”

         I shrug. “More weapons, probably.”

         “The Allfather will refuse.”

         “Yes he will, and will then have to face being called a liar and a cheat. Or he’ll give them what they want. It will be your father’s problem when it happens.”

         “So you’re on their side now?”

         “They are of absolutely no importance to me whatsoever.”

         He narrows his eyes. “You’ve planned this just because my father angered you?”

         “Not only. I have every interest in you winning this war, messing with your father is just bonus, but he’s trying to manipulate me and I can’t see to what end. So I’m leaving him a nice little pile of chaos to deal with after I’m left. I know,” I shrug, “it’s not exactly as if I had never done that, but, well… classics.”

         He smiles. “What would you have done if he’d accepted to trade me?”

         I shake my head. “I’m not sure.”

         “It could very well have happened, you know.”

         “Yes; _that_ I know. He had considered it. It was still too difficult for him to actually say it out loud, though.” He nods. “Perhaps he considers that saying is doing…” He doesn’t react and I go to sit on the floor again, my back to the wall opposite him. “Now tell me, how exactly did you decide to jump to a probable death right under your brother’s eyes?”

         “Because it was ‘right under my brother’s eyes,’ to borrow your words.”

         “I thought so.” I sigh and close my eyes. “I have a little theory about what happened there. Will you be so kind as to listen and if needed, correct it?”

         “Tell me,” he just says.

         “I’m pretty sure that you wanted everyone to feel responsible for your death, so you attracted their attention on you and on the fact that you were doing this to save someone else. Am I wrong?”

         “No. You’re not wrong.”

         I nod. “I like the mise en scène.” I open my eyes again.

         He’s staring straight at me; my skin starts itching. “I thought you might,” he says.

         “Question,” I whisper. “Why?”

         He frowns. “Didn’t we just discuss that?”

         “No; we discussed why you did it at that precise moment. My question is why you even thought of it. Did you want to die there, during that battle?”

         He stays silent for a long time, his eyes still unmoving. I suspect he isn’t seeing me anymore, that he’s lost in some deeply buried labyrinth of thoughts, but I don’t look away, observing him, leaving him all the time he needs to decide what he wants to answer. Eventually he straightens a little, his hand on the wall to steady himself, and he’s looking at me again. No, he’s looking into me. It makes my stomach hurt. “I…,” he starts. Then pauses. Then sighs. “I was…” He pauses again.

         “You were going to fall anyway, weren’t you?” I ask. He nods. “And thought you should make the best out of it.” He nods again. “Sneaky,” I say. “Everybody saw you, but they didn’t really see.”

         “I wanted it to be their fault. Balder’s fault; Thor’s fault. Your fault. I wanted all of you to feel guilty.”

         I smile. “It worked.” I bring my legs up against my chest and hug my knees. “Except that you survived and you’re still here to face the mess.” He bites his lower lip and looks away. There’s more silence until I can’t resist the urge to ask. “Had you thought it up before? Prepared it in case you were going to lose?”

         “I was thinking your suggestions through and decided I could improve them a little, add something personal to the scheme. I wanted to isolate Balder and then draw attention to his incompetence. When I understood I was trapped, without the required time to conjure up enough magic to escape the pike, I thought that everyone believing for the rest of time that I had sacrificed my life to save his would be decent payback and I elected to improvise.” He almost smiles. “Tell me, do you think the others have guessed?” he asks.

         I uncurl and get up, “I don’t think so,” I answer. “They want to believe in your noble gesture so much that they overlook everything they know about you.” I’m restless and stretch my arms far above my head to relax my tensed muscles. I need a back rub. Maybe if I ask nicely… No way, my brain retorts.

         “How did you find out the truth?”

         I feign a haughty stare. “Please, it was blatant.” He looks a little worried, making me explain quicker than what I wanted. Dammit, I can’t even make him think he’s not that good, now! “No, it wasn’t, but something specific gave you away to me.”

         “What was it?”

         I draw nearer. “That was unexpected, even for the weaver,” I repeat what Thor told me. “Don’t forget to tell her.” I smile at him. “Were you so eager for me to know I had triggered the idea? Or did you try and insist upon me being a justification for all your stupid actions?”

         “A little of both, actually. And above all, I wanted to help you write my story. But don’t you dare blame me; it allowed you to do your best performance so far, after all.”

         What is that about? “My best performance?”

         “Well, yes. I know you’re probably going to think I’m just flattering you, but your distressed woman act was close to perfect. Thor described me your behaviour before I woke up; it had a great sense of continuity with your reaction after London, and it was particularly professional of you to overlook how I had behaved earlier to keep up with the part. It accounts for so many people esteeming your work.”

         I keep a straight face. Ouch. It _is_ better this way, better if he thinks it was faked, honestly, I’ve been doing everything to make him believe that, but still. It hurts. And it’s coated in so much sugar that I can’t even snap something back. “Well, your unfinished work line was well-timed and a good basis for that sort of improvisation,” I answer. Let’s just be grateful that I don’t have to go great lengths to explain I don’t care.

         “I _have_ work to finish. That part was, and still is, true.” Ok. So, what the hell is he playing at? I feel his eyes all over me. I feel warmth all over me. I feel stupid all over me. “The best lies always have truth in them, and I was in no fit state to be very creative.” He shrugs. “In any case, you did most of the work on your own. I just had to lie there and enjoy the show. To be honest, you even managed to make me believe you really cared. But then again,” he says with a smile, “I was in a terrible condition.”

         Oh dear. I understand he’d seen everything and even if I went back to my former behaviour towards him, he just slammed the door closed into my face, just in case. Again, ouch. On the other hand, he could have made fun of me; he’s actually giving me a dignified way out. “I told you that my clients were always satisfied with my work,” I tell him. My voice is surprisingly steady. But I don’t want to test it too much and decide to keep silent after that.

         He smiles at me. “Yes; this is a very fine act indeed.” He straightens up again and winces. “I think I need to sit down.” He leaves his standing spot and starts towards a chair, but all of a sudden he doubles over and I hurry to help him up. He rests heavily on me. “I don’t need your help,” he mutters, probably trying for haughty but failing.

         “Don’t be ridiculous,” I answer. “I’m not leaving you on the floor.” I slide his arm around my shoulders and help him walk to the nearest table.

         The strain on his face recedes as soon as he’s sitting, and his arm slides down, his hand resting behind my back. I don’t move away and sit on the table too. I feel all right there, when I’m close enough to almost detect the beating of his heart. He sighs and opens his eyes again. “You’ve grown stronger, Weaver,” he whispers.

         “Have I?” I innocently answer. Of course I have, I’ve noticed it; it’s not much, but I feel stronger, lither and faster, physically more resistant to sleep or food deprivation. Odin’s promises weren’t just empty words. “I’m not sure about that. I can’t spot any difference.”

         He turns his head to look at me. “I know what I’m talking about. Stop lying to me, Eileen.”

         “Never,” I whisper back, and he smiles before kissing me softly. I let him, at first. I still don’t know what he’s playing at, maybe he just finds it entertaining, but I don’t care if it means he’s –. _No, you can’t allow him to do that. Remember what happened last time_! So I slide off the table. That doesn’t seem to bother him too much; he whirls me around to make me face him. Then he settles his hands firmly on my hips. “It’s all a fine act, is it?” I tell him. He nods. “But then, what are your hands doing there?”

         He grins and kisses my shoulder, pulling me closer. “You said something about lies having a little truth in them not ten minutes ago. What harm is there in grounding _this_ lie in reality?”

         Sense is telling me that of course it’s going to be harmful, but the sudden throbbing between my legs plainly disagrees with that. _To hell with sense_ , I think; _this is what I was going for to begin with_. “I guess there isn’t any,” I answer, and I kiss him back, locking my fingers behind his head. He smiles and wraps his hands tighter around my hips, crumpling the fabric of my dress.

         Said hands proceed to wrinkle the dress up, gradually exposing my legs. “Will you please stop trying to take my clothes off?”

         “No,” he whispers. “I want to see where the line travels to,” he adds, trailing the tattoo with a finger.

         I smile but still make a show of protesting some more. “This isn’t going anywhere. You can barely walk, how do you –”

         A long, deep kiss silences me, making want spear my stomach. “The answer is still no,” he says when he’s finished. _Oh, ok then._ I don’t bother answering and kiss him again and again, eating up his lips, not even stopping long enough to catch a full breath. The next moment he’s heaving me up in a swift movement that makes him wince in pain as his muscles strain. I rest my knees on the table – the sharp edge hurts a little, but who cares? – push him down gently and secure his hips under my own. He doesn’t resist at first but soon enough I feel his fingers sink into the flesh of my waist and he pulls himself up with a faint cry of pain, his lips reaching for mine. He slides one hand behind my back, the other in my hair and his arms close around me. He kisses my lips, my chin, my jaw, and down my neck to the collarbone, making my skin bristle. I slip my hands under the thin shirt he’s wearing and run my palms over him, sensing every ripple of his muscles. “Eileen, wait,” he whispers, catching my hands.

         “What? Am I hurting you?”

         “No, but someone’s coming,” he says.

         _What?_ _You’ve got to be kidding me!_ “Are you sure?” He nods briefly and pinches his lips. I kiss him hungrily; I don’t want this to stop now. “I didn’t hear a thing,” I point out. And kiss him again.

         I feel his smile under my lips. “Of course you didn’t. But somebody is getting nearer, I can hear him.”

         A surge of suspicion accompanies the intense frustration in my every limb and I frown at him. “Is this another way of making me angry?”

         He gently pushes me down from the table and gets to his feet too. “It isn’t,” he whispers to my neck. He makes his finger crawl up my cheek and kisses me. “Believe me, it isn’t.” Then he half-smiles. “Why would I do such a thing? I don’t need that anymore!”

         I smile and frown and try to glare and pinch my lips, all that at the same time, and then I wrap my hands around his face and proceed to kiss all this arrogance out of him. “Shut up,” I say. “Shut up; shut up; shut up.”

         “Eileen, he’s getting nearer.”

         I look straight at his eyes. “I am considering not moving at all until it happens,” I tell him.

         He raises an eyebrow. “That would be most unwise.”

         “Why?” I trace a scar on his cheek with my thumb.

         “You have no idea how wrong this is here; it would already be if you were an Asgardian, and you’re a guest.”

         I tilt my head to the side and grin. And I want it to mean ‘yeah; I can grin too.’ I sigh. “Like I care about what’s wrong here.” I narrow my eyes. “And anyway I thought you always did whatever you wanted, regardless of right and wrong?”

         “In this specific situation, it would prove extremely unprofitable.” He indicates a nearby chair with a movement of his chin and starts untangling my arms.

         I resist. “Do – not – push – me – away.” That makes him smile and he bends his head to kiss me again when the door screeches; the next instant I’ve moved away from him and I’m pacing the room. “No, this is out of the question,” I say. “I think we’d better let your father discuss the terms, and then decide how we’ll react.” Loki’s staring at me and I relish the astonished look on his face as he seats himself on the table again.

         “My apologies,” the guard who just came in says. “The Allfather demands the presence of Eileen Weaver in the Throne Room.”

         I turn my head to him. “Am I requested to come at once?”

         “Yes, if convenient, of course.”

         I frown. “And if not?”

         Hesitation flickers on the tall guard’s face. “Er… I… I wasn’t told…” he stammers.

         “Tell the Allfather that I will gladly meet him, as he demands.” The guard seems relieved and smiles, but doesn’t leave. “In a moment,” I add, turning my gaze back to Loki. “When I find it convenient.”

         “But he said –”

         “We understood what he said,” Loki answers in the voice I heard the first time I saw him. I should be used to it, but it still sends shivers down my spine, and I’m not sure if they’re good or bad shivers. Both, probably, since it scares me, but he’s now using it to back me up. I’ll have to learn how to give orders like that, too. “Tell him that our guest will join him shortly.” The armed man nods. “Leave us, now.” The guard walks away and I smile at Loki. “I understand why you did that,” he points out, “but you shouldn’t keep him waiting too long.”

         I walk to him again, place my hands on his legs and lift my face up for a slow, extensive, eager kiss. An uncalled for thought pops into my mind; one day, I’ll make him speak to his father in that tone, for me and me only. “How long would be too long?” I just mouth the words, unhurriedly sliding my fingers up his thighs.

         He sucks a little air in. “Don’t… No… no time,” he whispers.

         “Oh,” I answer. “I guess I’ll just go, then, since I can keep _you_ waiting a little while longer.”

         He cringes, smiles, encloses my head inside his hands and kisses my lower lip. “I shouldn’t allow you to speak to me like that.”

         I understand the warning under the playful tone. I’ve managed to make myself interesting enough to be ‘allowed’ a lot of things, but my situation is quite… precarious. I’m safe until he finds me boring; dangerous indeed. As if I cared. “No, you shouldn’t,” I answer. “If I’d been you, I would have taken that insolent mortal’s tongue out on the first day.”

         “Well, yes, I should have. Considering how she messed up the splendid speech I wanted her to deliver, it would have been a wiser decision. What are people thinking of me now?”

         I laugh. “Leave speeches to me and soon you’ll sneer at everyone here again, I swear it.”

         “I don’t need you for that, as clever a weaver you can be,” he scoffs.

         _Ok, I know you don’t like looking weak, but can you please not make fun of me when I’m trying to help?_ I look at the half-smile on his lips and decide I can let him have this one. “Perhaps you don’t,” I answer. “But I’m sure it will be more fun if I meddle.” He doesn’t seem to agree. “I’ll let you know what your father wanted,” I tell him as I hurry to the door.

         I hear him laugh softly. “He wanted you out of this room.”


	13. Sarcasm does not kill enemies

         Well, maybe that was the veiled reason, but in any case Odin also wanted to tell me he had made a decision. He decided to follow my idea, and that led me where I am now, silently observing Loki from afar, trembling like a teenager within hearing range of her crush.

         Both the Frost Giants and S.H.I.E.L.D. accepted the alliance the Asgardians offered. And as some sort of reward, I was allowed to attend the welcoming celebrations for the delegates, a fortnight from then. So far, so good. But after that he told me that since I’d asked not to be introduced as the mortal abducted by Loki, I would have to pretend I was a citizen of Asgard. I had to blend in. Brilliant. I had no other choice but accept, despite the twinkle of shrewd satisfaction in Odin’s eye when he saw the horror on my face.

         This time I let the handmaid do her job without complaining. Well, just about without complaining, because seriously, I can still get into my clothes on my own, thank you very much. She didn’t seem to understand my joyless smile when I saw the jewels were all in the shape of snakes, snakes eating their own tails; that’s what I call being subtle, Allfather, I wanted to point out when I noticed. Dressed like all the others, with golden jewellery and everything, I look almost like I belonged. Almost. I have to confess that I liked what I saw in the mirror this morning, before I had to leave the comfort of my rooms and join a crowd of reluctant inhabitants of the Palace who were commanded to forget where I came from.

         The ceremony as a whole was boring. Very. It simply defied imagination, and I really hope the party tonight will be better. We had to sit through formal introductions of everyone, and after five minutes my mind took off somewhere else and I stopped paying attention. Everybody was, and still is, tensed and anxious; I think I can say this is the worst alliance ever. Even the Fellowship of the Ring turned out good. But humans, Asgardians and Frost Giants? Nope. Not working.

         However, I don’t care, if it means victory. They’re not here to make friends, they’re here to kick some ass, and they’d better do that properly, because despite their differences they’re all concerned with the outcome of this war.

         That’s why I picked a detail somewhere next to Odin and stared at it with a faint smile, pretending to listen to everything. But when my gaze eventually wandered off and I spotted Loki’s lonely figure on a balcony, far above all of us, I had to check the impulse to leave at that very instant.

         He couldn’t attend the gathering since, as he’d put it himself, the last time he had seen any of the individuals there he was trying to either annihilate or enslave their kind. But he had to be seen. Odin feared that if he never turned up, the allies would think he was hiding and believe he wouldn’t comply to his part of the bargain. I’d shrugged that away; and yet since there was no changing the Allfather’s mind about it, Loki had agreed.

         And here I am now, standing in the doorway to that very same balcony, having found a way to sneak away from the audience and join him. But I can’t walk towards him. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since the healing room, and I don’t know if it’s because of the smell of storm in the air, but I’m nervous.

         Or maybe it’s due to the two long weeks we’ve spent under the constant gaze of all the others. Because since I became really involved in strategies to save his world, Odin decided I had to sit in every single war meeting they held. Even when they didn’t mention negotiation or alliance for hours. At the end of the day, I often found myself begging for calm and silence after all that arguing and bickering. And shouting. Good Lord, Loki said I was loud about everything, but they are worse, much worse. And yet, despite the fatigue, I waited. He never came. Ground the lie in reality, my foot. Notice how I’ve become polite, all of a sudden?

         I understood he was kept pretty busy too. When I was allowed to leave and rest, he had to stay with Thor and their father to continue the discussions, and it lasted all night more often than not.

         We only got to be in each other’s company during the day. With dozens of others in the same room. And I had to stay there; feel his eyes on me as I listened to the others, sit silent for hours watching him sitting silent too. I also had to speak to him, answer his slashing sarcasm with haughty quips. Most of the time, I knew he defied me on purpose, and I did the same, much to everyone’s amusement.     

         It was fun. At first. Then it slowly turned into torture. I was there, mere inches from him, and it made my muscles ache from the tension; even my veins started hurting. And every time he taunted me, it only made me want to touch him, and kiss him, and hold him. And I couldn’t.

         Ok, so maybe he was right when he said his father had wanted me out of this room. The nearest we came to the day of the welcoming party, the worst it got. I ended up starting every time he walked past me somewhere. He knew it; he saw it; he delighted in it, as far as I could tell from his amused grins. And it made me mad that he was so much more self-controlled around me than I was when he was there.

         So when I spotted him alone up there, I just went, and to hell with the others if they don’t like it. But I’ve been standing there for the past five minutes, unable to decide what to do now that we _are_ actually alone together, wondering how long he’ll wait before turning around and talk to me, or if he’s expecting me to speak. He’s wearing that helmet again, and it makes me smile as I remember the first time I saw him. I relax a little.

         He barely turns his head to talk, his profile etched against the sun. “It took you long enough to come up here,” he says.

         I laugh. “And I thought you’d like a surprise.” I force my legs under my control again and walk. I can’t just run to him, as much as I’d like that; if he’s here to be seen, then people will see everything. Plus, I’ve never done that, why the hell would I start today?

         “Did you really think you could sneak up on me?”

         I wait to be next to him before I answer. “No, of course not.” _I just wanted to know how long it would take you to speak._ I look up at him, keeping a straight face. “Was the helmet really necessary?” I ask.

         “Why not?”

         “I’m not answering _that_ ,” I snap back.

         “I needed to be seen from afar.”

         “Come on, they’ve seen you now, take it off.”

         “What if –”

         “I don’t care.” _Take that off and kiss me._ I breathe deeply. He eventually complies and places the thing on the wide ledge with a clink. “Isn’t it better?” I ask.

         “How will they recognize me?” He points at the crowd with the spear he’s holding; his gesture encompasses the whole gathering at our feet.

         I shrug. “I still don’t care.” _Kiss me again and again until our lips are raw and neither of us can speak anymore._ I breathe in again, but this doesn’t seem to be working. “I can’t believe they gave you a weapon,” I tell him.

         He scoffs. “Ornamental. Very light, of no use at all.” He makes it clank on the helmet.

         I laugh and sigh. I have to focus on something else. The weather, or the scenery. The scenery is a good topic. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I whisper.

         “All these people?”

         “No. Everything else. The dark clouds in the sky, the bright buildings, the gardens. Asgard. When I see that, I understand why you wanted it for your own.”

         He stays silent for a long time before answering, holding his head high, scornfully observing the crowd. I can see his Adam’s apple moving under the thin layer of skin on his neck. “If I had guessed my brother would come back from his exile so easily, I could tell you all of it is mine.” He pinches his lips. “And if I hadn’t failed to defeat six isolated people despite having an entire army, I would tell you that Earth is mine too.”

         _But then you wouldn’t have to tell me, since you’d never have transported me here._ “I already said it; you really don’t want to have anything to do with Earth.” I pause. I crave to disclose more. “And Asgard? It will never be yours, but if it’s of any comfort to you, it will never be Thor’s either.”

         He frowns at me. “What do you mean?”

         “Your father will never let him _really_ rule.”

         “But when he dies, he’ll –”

         _You will all die at the same time_ , I want to tell him. But I can’t, so I bite my lips not to speak. I made a promise, and I don’t want to break this one. I know Odin will never forgive me if I do.

         “What do you know?” Loki asks in a quiet but warning tone. I shake my head. There’s an eagerness; a need in his eyes. I would be a terrible prophetess; I have no idea what will become of me, and everything I know of his future I would like to forget. “Tell me,” he says. “Tell me, Eileen!”

         “No, Loki.”

         He grabs my shoulders. “Don’t think that… that I won’t hurt you! I will make you speak, whatever I need to do.”

         “I know,” I whisper. “But that’s not what I mean.” I shrug his hands off. “You don’t understand; I don’t _need_ to tell you. It’s all in the books. It’s always been there.” He backs away and straightens, his eyes narrowing. “But you never deemed them worth your attention. And why should you? They were written by mere humans. Humans like me, who liked to write stories.”

         His hands twitch. “There are no humans like you,” he says.

         _What?_ I frown. “Are you really trying to flatter me into telling you? It won’t work. I’m not _that_ stupid.”

         He rolls his eyes to the sky then looks at me with a half-smile. “When Father cast Thor out and sent him to your world, my brother was stripped of all his asgardian powers until he… repented. The reverse is possible. The Allfather did grant you our physical strength, after all.”

         I consider that for a minute. That would account for my being stronger, and maybe also for many other unexplained things. “So technically, there are no humans like me,” I conclude. I wonder if that’s why he almost seems not to despise me too much. “I’ll have to be very careful when I go back home, then. If I forget I’m not here anymore, I might get hurt. It would be a stupid thing to do.”

         “Yes,” Loki says. “Yes, indeed it would.”

         I sigh. “It’s a strange power, being able to mess with people’s physical abilities.”

         He gives a cryptic smile. “One among so many others he doesn’t want us to know about. But it’s efficient, don’t deny it again.”

         “I won’t.” I smile at him. “Maybe I’ll even be able to join the battle and fight with you, who knows?” I was just joking, but he arches an eyebrow and all of a sudden, he starts spinning the spear above his head, making it fly mere inches from my face. “Are you crazy?” I yell at him.

         That’s when he yanks me closer, locking my body in a strong grip, and he gently taps the spear on my head. I stop breathing.  “You’re dead,” he says. _Yes, yes I am,_ I think. “ _That_ you have to learn, little weaver. You in a fight would be a terrible decision: sarcasm does not kill enemies.”

         I nod. He smiles and his arm releases me; I cling to him. “Don’t let go,” I whisper.

         He doesn’t obey, and as he retreats, his fingers slowly trace the jewelled neckline of my dress, a golden snake sewn into the fabric and clasped around my neck to hold the gown together. His touch burns like acid, but the rest of my body goes cold.  “I have to,” he says. “I placed a decoy just long enough for people not to believe I was attacking you.”

         I close my eyes; I shouldn’t let him be so aware of the power he has over me. Because he’s doing it again, playing, trying to frustrate me. I guess I deserve that, considering I was the one to start it. I still wish he would stop. And I also wish I could make him put aside all this control he has over himself. I direct my eyes towards the crowd again. “So,” I say casually, “how many ideas did you have to ruin this day of peace and celebration?”

         He pouts ironically. “Five; a sixth one that would certainly not work.” He turns to me. “Would you like to see?”

         “Dear me, no! This,” I point at the human shape shaking his father’s hand, “is all to save your sorry ass.” He frowns. Oops, politeness glitched. “I’m not asking you to be grateful, but you could at least not try to smash all of it to pieces.”

         He shakes his head. “I don’t owe them a thing. And why should you even defend them? It’s your work their taking credit for.”

         I smile a little. “Credit is overrated, I don’t want it. I’m used to not having any, and I never ask for it anyway.”

         “I don’t understand; what is it you ask for, then?”

         I shrug. “I never ask for anything. And even if I did, I wouldn’t ask you because I know very well I’d never get what I want.” When I look up at him he’s smiling.

         “You could still tell me.”

         “Are you trying to make me reveal details about myself that might be of use later?” He continues smiling, and I sigh. “There’s a mile-long list of things I want.”

 _“_ I’m listening,” he says softly.

         _Very well, then. I’ll tell you._ “I want money; I want power. But I want it my own way.”

         “Nothing very unusual,” he comments.

         “Wait a minute, it isn’t finished,” I laugh. “That was the sensible part. I also want to be obeyed. I want to write a great book, a great story. I want to rule a world.” I pause and side-glance at him; he’s stopped smiling and is staring at some invisible detail. I look in front of me again.  “I want to live forever. I want you.” I don’t move an inch when I hear fabric rustling as Loki abruptly turns his head to me. I stick to the casual tone. “I want you to take me inside the very instant I finish speaking. I want to go to my apartments because there’s a lock on the door, and I want privacy. I want you to take a good look at what’s tattooed on my skin. I want to feel your back arch under my hips.” I steal a glance at his hands, closing and opening over nothing; otherwise he’s still motionless. I lower my voice. “I want you to have me until I cry for mercy and then start again.” I breathe out and take a few steps backwards. “That’s what I want; but I know most of it I’ll never get.” I observe him as I continue walking backwards towards the door; he’s slightly hunched over the railing.

         “Anything else?” I hear him ask.

         “I don’t think so,” I answer. “I don’t need more.” _Of course I need more, but you’ll never hear it from me._

         When he turns around he looks far too relaxed for my plans to have worked and I swear inwardly. Never mind; I tried something. “Didn’t I tell you that you shouldn’t be allowed to speak to me like this?”

         I stop walking and laugh. “It was about something else entirely, but yes, I believe you did.”

         “I thought so,” he says with a smile. “You talk too much, Eileen.”

         “Says the one people call Silvertongue…”

         He suddenly marches up to me. “I hate that name and you know it very well.”

         _So I just needed to make you angry…_ “I think it’s rather fitting, even if I prefer Liesmith.”

         “Will you shut up?”

         He looks irate. I don’t care. “Now, Loki, that’s my line you’re stealing.”

         He frowns and I look around before letting my lips curl up in a sort of feral smile. “That face doesn’t suit you,” he says. “Why are you even –”

         I walk to him and kiss him. “We’re out of sight,” I whisper on his lips. “Give me my line back.” I hear something clink to the floor and he starts pushing me further towards the door, one hand around my jaw; I stumble on the hem of my skirt but he’s half-carrying me anyway. My back slams on a cold surface; the door, a wall, a pillar, I don’t care. There’s something cold and sharp sinking into my flesh, something metallic from his armour I think, but I can’t tell what it is. I struggle to breathe, trying to focus on Loki’s hands running all over me, crumpling the thin fabric of the dress, reaching for my skin. I secure my grip around his neck and start pulling myself up but he pushes me down again, pins both my hands above my head and his hips makes my back hit the wall so violently I breathe out with a cry.

         Startled, he considers me for a minute and then rests his forehead on mine with a sigh. “You can’t continue doing this, my weaver,” he says.

         He lets go of my arms and I wrap my hands around his face. “Doing what?” Great gods in everywhere, why is there always something that interrupts him? Why? What have I done to deserve such a thing? It never ever took me so many stillborn starts to –.

         “Making me so angry I want to kill you,” he answers, cutting my inside rambling short.

         _Er…_ “Well, that wasn’t what I was going for, you know.”

         He laughs. “What were you… how did you say? Going for?”

         _I wanted to make you lose control._ But I can’t tell him that, can I? “I wanted to make sure you still thought we should ground the lie in reality.”

         I feel far too much happiness when he locks his fingers with mine before answering. “I thought I had been clear about that,” he says, then he kisses me slowly and my entire body quivers.

         I should so not allow myself to be that blatant, I’m giving myself away and he’s probably taking my… what the hell am I going to call this? Affection? Well, he would have every reason to take it for granted. “How could I know you hadn’t changed your mind? You almost never talked to me over the past days.” This is purely provocation, me trying to prove something, I know myself well enough to know it.

         And yet I relish the look on his face when I see my taunt has worked. His hands on my hips are burning me. “Do you think it was easy, letting you tease me and provoke me every other sentence? Seeing you, hearing you, and never being able to answer in the way I wanted?”

         I completely overlook that the “way he wanted” could very well have been ripping my throat open. I can feel my heart pounding hard in my chest, I’m trembling a little, and I’m incredibly happy. _Eileen, you’re an idiot._ I sigh.

         “What is it?” he asks.

         “Nothing,” I lie. “I’m just sorry we have to be back where everyone can see you before they realize you’re not there anymore.”

         “They already know,” he says. I retrieve the fallen spear to hand it back to him, and we walk towards the ledge again. The sensation of his arm around my back and his hand resting on my hip sends a shot of euphoria right through me. Textbook possession sign; I’m his and I ought to know it. Again, this pleases me more than it should for my own mental health. The worst is that I know he’s doing all of this on purpose, to make me feel safe, make me think I can trust him, make me think I’ve won him over. And yet the light-headed, elated part of me overlooks that as I intertwine my fingers with his over my hipbone and look down towards the crowd again. This is too good to be ruined; I’ll deal with missing him when I’m actually gone. Of course I’m reaching towards unprecedented levels of stupidity, but well. I’ve never let myself be so stupid as to have real feelings on Earth; I guess it needed another planet to do the trick. The trick… I smile at the teeny-tiny people. Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel wrong or scary to admit it. I think that what’s wrong here is mostly my own self. I let my eyes sweep over the agitated figures at our feet.

         “It’s going to be so boring for me when I go back to live with… humans,” I tell him.

         “And why would that be so? You’ll have more power than you’ve ever had with the position we secured for you.”

         “I’m not sure I’ll be that influential with these people.”

         I feel his fingers twitch a little. “Oh, but you will. And you will revel in making them dance for you.”

         I smile. “Even you failed at doing that. I don’t stand a chance.”

         “You do,” he whispers, letting his lips hover next to my ear. “You know them better than I did; and I failed to see that they weren’t behaving according to what I had discovered of them. I should have adapted my strategy then, something you know how to do better than anyone else.”

         “Are you acknowledging a mistake?” I tease.

         “Maybe I am.”

         “Or maybe you’re flattering me into doing something for you because you know I can’t resist hearing how good I am,” I add. He bites his lower lip but has no other reaction. _Well that explains a lot._ I knew it. Whatever. “If you want me to take revenge for you, you need just ask.” He’s still not reacting. “I know that look on your face, I’ve already seen it. Don’t worry; I wasn’t planning on making you ask me anything. When I’m there, I’ll make them pay; I swear to you they’ll regret everything.”

         My tone compels him to look at me. “Why, Eileen? I was attacking them, threatening to destroy your world; I wanted to enslave your kind, and they saved everyone. Why would you even think of getting back at them?”

         “Just because I can, for one thing. Also because I need to continue writing your story the way I want it to be. And above all, I want to make them feel deep down the pretence their entire lives are. It might take a long time, but I’ll make them see the fake. It’s the reverse of what I’ve always done, but well; if I could make people feel good about their worst actions, I guess I can make them feel bad about the good ones. I will do everything I can to break them.” _I will hurt them. I will make them kneel._ His eyes search mine and for a short, still moment, as I look into them, I let myself hope and I know I’ll be resilient enough to resist the pain of losing him if I can see that small flicker of light inside his pupils again.

         But the next instant it’s gone, his face is hard and closed again, and I have to look away so he doesn’t guess how much it pleased me. I conjure up a strong grip on myself. “It’s still going to be hell when I go back,” I whisper. I narrow my eyes as I notice one of the women in the Asgardian audience is staring squarely at the balcony. I wonder why she seems so interested. The intensity of her glare makes me shiver.

         Loki doesn’t seem to have noticed a thing; he’s still looking at me. “No, it isn’t.”

         “Of course it is. How can Earth compete with this?” _How can anyone compete with you?_

         He shrugs. “You’ll have to get over it.”

         “It’s not as if I had any other option, is it?” I let go of his fingers to lean over the ledge.

         He gives a short laugh and his hand migrates to the small of my back. “Any other option, as you say, would make some things impossible.”

         I know very well what he’s talking about. _Don’t be greedy, Eileen,_ I tell myself. I can’t ask for things beyond my reach; I’m just a distraction and I can’t forget it. The woman has stopped staring, but now Odin and a few others have lifted their heads towards us. “I think I’ll go back down there. I can feel disapproval rippling up from all these eyes.” He smiles but doesn’t answer. I don’t want to sit with the others; I want to stay alone for a while, alone and be sorry for myself. But of course I don’t say that. “You know,” I whisper instead, “there’s a grand dinner tonight.”

         “I know. I will wait for you there, but I have to meet my father first; he wanted to talk to me, probably about how he wants me to behave.”

         The humiliation in his tone is somehow painful, and I wish I could do something, anything, to spare him the ordeal. “I won’t stay very long. But what I mean is, maybe something will attract everyone’s attention so much that they won’t notice you’ve left too.” I leave before he can call me back.

 


	14. Apology accepted

         I’m in the middle of a crowd and I wish I could kill them all. They’re laughing and joking and drinking, and I was doing all of that too, for Asgard’s sake I was almost having fun! Pretending to be one of _them_ was an entertaining part, after all.

         And now just I want to disappear.

         I want to dissolve into thin air, like Loki does, and walk away to claim a few heads. I know Odin is just in front of me, observing my every reaction, and I struggle to master the horror inside me. What was I saying about being resilient enough to lose Loki? It was another lie I told myself. The only good thing about this one is that I didn’t get the chance to believe it too long.

         “Did you hear me, Eileen Weaver?” the king of Asgard is asking. “You have successfully completed your work and can go home whenever you want. Tonight, or tomorrow morning, if you would rather not leave the party early.”

         I’m cold inside. When I see the twinkle of malice in the old man’s eye I feel a deep surge of hatred towards him but I stifle it and force a smile up my face. “Very well,” I say.

         “I will address you my most sincere gratitude,” he answers. “Despite your provoking me into anger more than once, I have to say your intervention will most likely allow us to win the war. You are a real friend to victory,” he concludes.

         His words trigger something in my brain, but I don’t know what exactly I’m supposed to remember, and anyway I’m too sad and angry to think about it. “You’re welcome,” I manage to utter.

         He smiles. “Also, thank you for keeping most of the secret about our so-called fates.” His smile becomes wider. “I know how difficult it must have been, but your ordeal is now finished. Please excuse me, but there are other guests. Farewell, Eileen Weaver. I don’t think I will see you again.”

         I nod and watch him walk away. The party is happening outside, in a large garden, and my eyes search every corner for Loki; I have to tell him, I don’t know what exactly, that I’m leaving, that I don’t want to, that I want him to ask me to stay, anything, something. And it doesn’t matter if everyone hears me. But I can’t see him. I look for Thor; maybe he’ll know where his brother is. My respiration has lost its normality and I bump into people as I make my way between tables and trees and – oh dear, they’re together. Loki spots me, frowns, but now I can’t move, and I stand there like an idiot. He stares at me for a second, and then turns his eyes towards his brother again, who seems busy twirling his hammer under the eyes of a group of awe-stricken humans. I take a long, deep breath and decide to leave, or I’ll end up attacking someone. I run to my apartments and sit there for a long, long time.

* * *

 

         I can still hear the merry sounds of people laughing, but I don’t want to close the windows: it’s so warm and sticky tonight that the little air coming in is a relief. After a while I realize my head is spinning. _Low on sugar_ , I think. The only thing I have in the room is a bowl of grapes. I take a one and eat it; it tastes like ashes. I pace the room, trying to cover the laughter with songs inside my head, songs that seem to have become an eerie mash-up of sad chords and soft voices that make sense only to me and my bitterness. It’s already too late for Loki to come now, and he doesn’t even know I’m here, but I can’t imagine going to sleep.

         This is my last night here, and I realize there’s so much I could have done instead of messing around, trying to be smarter than anyone else, pretending to be some sort of femme fatale, trying to seduce the very one who had threatened me. Another one than me would have tried to help her kind, tried to improve her knowledge of the world, tried to come back home wiser. I only exacted revenge on the people who had allowed me to earn money. I only covered myself in shame, beckoning to a god like the basest of prostitutes. I’m a wreck; a mistake; a failure. A waste of space. Tonight, for the first time in my life, I’m considering quitting the game not because I think it doesn’t deserve me, but because I realize I don’t even deserve to play. I’m not good enough for the world and I should have died in my bed, or during the transfer, or in the cave, or even by Loki’s hand. Why was I even allowed to survive? And yet, this time, I do nothing to put an end to all this. I don’t have pills and whisky to put me to sleep. A knife would require me to have enough backbone to face the pain, and, come on, who am I kidding? I’m just a coward. So I curl up in my chair to wait for the hours to go by. I suppose I will have to come out, at some point, to say that I’m leaving. But my body flatly refuses to move from the chair.

         Barely five minutes after that, I hear a sharp click and Loki bursts inside. I’m happy for a split-second, until I see the rage on his face. He doesn’t seem to register my presence in the room, slams the door shut behind him and makes straight for the shelf and the books. He proceeds to look at every one of them, his hands trembling, not even taking the time to put them back.

         It takes me long minutes of observing the poor books pile up on the floor in stunned silence before I get up and walk to him. “What are you doing?”

         “Where are they?” he shouts. He turns to me, his face anguished and drawn and angry. “Where are these books you mentioned earlier?”

         “They should be here somewhere,” I answer. I start looking for the _Eddas_ too, but they seem to have vanished, along with all the other stories I didn’t have time to read. Odin’s words come back to my mind. _Thank you for keeping most of the secret…_ I freeze. “Loki!” I call out. He doesn’t react and continues throwing books to the floor. “Loki, stop this and look at me.” He does; he looks dreadful, and I feel I should be afraid. I’m not. “They’re gone. Somebody came and took them away. Loki, tell me, were you stupid enough to confront your father about what I said today?”

         A large Old English Dictionary he was holding loudly hits the floor; I tense up at the violence of his reaction. “He’s always been hiding so many things from me, from everyone! I _want_ to know.”

         “So that’s why he came and said I could leave immediately. He’s afraid I might tell you.”

         He leans towards me. Everything about his posture whispers _lethal_. “And now that you’re leaving, I think you will tell me, Eileen Weaver. You will tell me every single thing you know.”

         I take a long, good look at him. “No, Loki,” I say.

         He walks closer. I think he’s going to attack me but he simply takes my head in both hands, tracing my cheekbones with his thumbs. I know that if he wanted to, he could make my neck snap in one move. “Why? Why can’t you let me know?” _Because I won’t be able to control what might happen if I do._ I stay silent. “You were always ready to defy my father, to defend my cause, take my side. Why are you not doing so now? I must understand, my Weaver.” Even the heavy layer of seduction in his voice isn’t enough to conceal the threat.

         “I think he’s right to keep this a secret.”

         He shakes his head but doesn’t let go of my face. “I can sense it has to do with me but I’m not allowed to hear more, even from you. Why can’t you see how terrible it is not to know?”

         _I will not yield to your sweet words_. I firmly pull his hands away. “It’s terrible to know, too,” I snap back.

         He takes a few steps backwards. Apparently he’s managed to master his rage and I relax a little. “Father warned me you’d say that.” He plucks a couple of grapes and makes them explode under his teeth. Thunder start rumbling and I frown. “Thor promised our guests he’d do a demonstration,” Loki explains with a smile.

         I shrug; I’m not interested in the weather or in whatever Thor is doing. “What else did your father say?”

         “Not much,” he answers, licking grape juice from his lips. I know he’s lying, but I don’t want to make him tell me. I’ve been lying too, after all.

         “I really regret it.” I say softly.

         The irony in his stare is painful. “What do you regret? Being here? Upsetting my carefully prepared plans? Making me believe you were on my side; making me think _anyone_ could be on my side?”

         _As if I ever did that…_ “I regret that if you ever come to know, I won’t be the one to tell you.” I walk to him and gently stroke his face; he closes his eyes and catches my hand. How I want to surrender, to send my promise to hell, shatter my oath and tell him, spill everything out. _I would be the only one to ever hurt you_. “It would be terrible, and painful, and frightening; for both of us. But I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it in my place. I wouldn’t want anyone else but me to be with you when it happens.” _I would carry it with you until you destroy everything._ These words can never pass my lips. I’m not the one meant to do that.

         He opens his eyes again, pressing his lips to my hand. “Then speak, Eileen,” he whispers to my skin. “That’s who you are: strong enough to tell me. That’s what I want from you. That’s why I need you.”

         He looks into my eyes, making things explode inside my brain. But I can’t allow myself to think he’s sincere. He knows me too well, he knows what levers to use. I must resist, but I have to confess I’m already forgetting why resisting is so important. “No, believe me; that’s the last thing you need.” He lets go of my hand, his face hard again. I should find some clever, sarcastic comment to defuse the situation.  I don’t want to. “I’m so, so sorry, Loki,” I whisper. “You can’t even imagine how sorry I am.”

         He walks away and I feel something breaking inside me. I did what I had to do, but it means I will never be in his arms again, I will never see him smile to me again. It feels wrong. Just before leaving, he stops and turns around. “Apology accepted,” he simply says, without even looking at me. His fingers are playing with a grape.

         I think I’m crying again. This can’t be happening like that. “Is that all you have to say to me?” I call out. “Nothing else? These might very well be our parting words.”

         Loki freezes. There’s a deafening crash of thunder and I imagine the people bowing and praying to the lightning god. It makes me smile to realize that I’m not with them. I want to say something, my lips part for a whisper, but the sound of silence cushions my words and I close them again. I slowly wipe the tears from my cheeks as Loki pops the grape in his mouth. The tiny seeds crunch under his teeth and he lifts his head up to look at me. I hold his gaze in complete silence. Angry; sad; hateful; weary; something else; some other thing. He plays out all the emotions as if flicking through them, deciding which one to pick. I don’t know what is going to happen when he takes the first step towards me, but somehow I don’t care, even if I die before my next breath is over. I close my eyes and wait, certain I wouldn’t hear him approach anyway.

         I feel his lips just behind my left ear, not even touching my skin. “Parting words,” the lips are whispering. I sense a hand closing around the nape of my neck, potentially ready to break it; another hand trailing the golden snake to unfasten it then sneaking under the loosened straps on my shoulders. “… Are overrated,” he concludes, and I concentrate on the perfect happiness flooding my entire being, drenching my body in desire. I search for his lips and kiss him, tasting the sour sweetness of grapes on his tongue. People say, people believe, people even write that time slows down in such moments. It isn’t true; quite simply, time stops being important. Everything else that is not the one in your arms stops being important.

         My nails scrape on leather before scratching his skin; he breathes in sharply. I unfasten my belt and still in silence his hands slide the dress off my shoulders inch by inch until the cloth rustles down and pools around my feet. I shiver as the tips of his fingers trace spirals and swirls on my burning skin. I stop his hand; it’s shaking. “Wait,” I whisper, and I walk a few steps backwards, towards the alcove and the bed, turning my naked back to the large window through which the light of the stars is pouring in. “You wanted to see where the line travels to,” I add, and I stay there, holding my head high, refusing to look at his face. I’ve always liked this moment, when they lay their eyes on the artwork on my skin, but tonight is the first time I feel so anxious for a reaction.

         I know what he’s seeing, I’ve designed it myself; I imagine his pupils slithering from leaf to leaf, small red ones down my spine and larger orange ones all over my back, stopping for a second on the gaping black skull at the centre of the torn web just under my waistline, among pieces of dead leaves caught in the sticky lace. Then trailing the line down my leg; I lift my foot a little so he can see the minuscule spider under my heel, a mere dot, so small it looks like an eight-branched star.

         I close my eyes and listen to his slow breathing, hear more fabric rustling and soft clatter, listen to the breeze entering the room. The air tastes of rain and bittersweet memories, of the certitude of death and the absurdity of hope. There’s more lightning, and thunder, and it was so loud I can’t hear a sound for seconds afterwards, not even able to know if he is still here with me. I suddenly sense his hand caressing my back. “Worth the wait,” he says, and I’m relieved. I would have hated it if he hadn’t liked my map of life. He kisses my neck; I want to turn around but his left arm closes around me, blocking my arms, pulling me backwards, drawing me closer, closer to the warmth of his skin and the pulse of his heart. A deeper, stronger hunger for him invades every cell in me when his hand sets out on a complicated path down my side, taking a delicious eternity from rib; to hip; to thigh; to at last put both an end and a start to my expectation.

         Another flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder attunes with my own slow shudders. He’s holding me so tight I can only lean my head backwards on his shoulder. One single, scathing tear falls from my eye. Rain starts falling in thousands of notes as he reaches for my lips, and far, far away I hear people shouting and running. A damp gust of wind comes licking our bodies and makes us both shiver.

         He makes me slowly turn around in his arms and kisses me towards the bed. I try to regain control and make him lie down under me, but he remains pointedly oblivious to my attempts and I give up when I feel his hands pinning my hips down on the mattress. I hold on to his neck and continue kissing every inch of his face in complete silence except for the rain echoing everywhere around and inside us. A silent flash of lightning makes me start and I open my hands in surprise, and he escapes, kissing his way down my neck, between my breasts, around my hipbone, along my thigh, –

         Great gods. There’s no such thing as breathing; there’s no such thing as thinking; there’s no such thing as being. I’m no mind and all body, intently listening to the secret truths he’s speaking to the deepest nerve endings he can find. I sigh, whisper, sing then scream his name with and over the thunder as splitting waves of ecstasy ripple and crash, breaking inside every cell of my flesh and bones, shattering the certitudes I had of myself.

         Fire. Fire spreading everywhere.

         I don’t immediately realize he’s stopped and is now recreating the map of my body under his hands. I coil up to catch his lips but he pushes me back down with a commanding kiss. He comes into me slow and deep, making relief and sheer pleasure overlap one another. I lock my legs around his hips. We remind me of gourmets at their first nouvelle cuisine degustation, defiant of the unknown laid before us, trying small, hesitant mouthfuls, puzzled by the mere taste it all, and eventually confident that more is all we want, more is all we need. “Faster,” I whisper. _I want to forget my name_ , I think.

         “No,” he simply answers.

         “Please.” Now I can plead. “Please.” Now I can beg.

         “No,” he says again, pushing deeper. I shudder. “I want this to last a long,” he bites my lower lip, “long,” he buries his fingers in my hair, “time.”

         I sigh again, but I make myself look into his eyes. “It won’t,” I warn him when I catch enough breath to speak. He smiles. “Believe me, it won’t.”

         But it does.


	15. You will be safer on Earth

         I don’t sleep, content with just lying there for I don’t know how long. When I open my eyelids slowly, it’s still pitch dark outside and I smile, knowing morning hasn’t come yet. The rain and thunder have stopped, and through the open windows the sounds of the party reach my ears, mingling with Loki’s slow breathing. It has grown very hot again, and I’m thirsty. But we were still clinging to each other when he fell asleep and I don’t want to disturb his rest, so I stay there, hoping he will wake up on his own.

         It doesn’t happen. After a while I disentangle myself from his arms and pad around the room as silently as possible to find a glass. I gulp the lukewarm water down but even if it quiets my thirst the heat is smothering me; I know I would be utterly unable to fall back asleep, and yet I don’t want to wake Loki up. I hesitate for a minute then retrieve my dress from the carpet and slip back into it, deciding a short walk in the smaller, quieter garden will cool me down.

         I find the place empty, much to my relief. The bench is a little wet but still welcoming, and I sit, filling my lungs with scent of warm damp earth and broken leaves. I shiver when a breeze wraps itself tight around me, but it’s a nice shiver, a pleasant sensation of soft air on my skin. I wonder if I’ll find the same sensations on Earth, if my perceptions of the world were always so sharp, if I had never paid attention before, if it has anything to do with my physical transformation; or if my senses are simply still raw from him. I smile and all of a sudden I’ve had enough of air, and never mind his rest, because even if there’s still time before morning it won’t be enough. I keep my train of thoughts in check, because if I go that way I’ll end up thinking that eternity wouldn’t be enough for us, or at least for me, and I’d actually believe it to be true. I tend to get melodramatic after sex.

         The sound of voices makes me start and jump to my feet. Reactivity seems improved too, I can’t help noticing. Loki’s hands won’t be the only things I miss when I become a human again.

         I peer through the leaves and I only have to wait for a few seconds before seeing Thor half-carrying Sif to another bench; both are laughing their heads off and are having trouble walking straight. I can’t help smiling as he sits her on the cold stone and she thanks him. They look decidedly drunk, and for some reason I find it adorable. Soon, Sif lies down and dozes off, leaving Thor standing there, watching her sleep. He stays unmoving for a minute then straightens up, stretches with a grunt, looks around and – dammit – waves when he sees me. I feel compelled to smile back, hoping he will go back inside, thinking I’m drunk too, but instead he walks to me. I’m really not in the mood to talk right now, and certainly not to him. But I’m not in the mood to get angry at anyone either, so I sit down again and wait for him to draw nearer.

         “Where have you been hiding, little weaver?” he asks.

         **_You_** _are not allowed to call me that_ , I think. “I kept away from the rain.” This isn’t technically a lie. “I wasn’t the only one to run inside, as far as I heard.”

         “Yes, my brother abandoned us too when it started. I know spiders and snakes don’t like thunder, but it was only to amuse our guests.”

         Apparently he doesn’t suspect a thing. “I’m certain they found you very impressive.” He laughs a little. “Will Sif be fine?” I look at her.

         “Do not worry, Eileen Weaver, she will be perfectly all right. She has seen worse.”

         “Oh,” I answer. “Very well.” There’s a long pause and I do nothing to break the silence, secretly wishing he’ll get the hint and leave, so I can run back to my room and to Loki.

         He fails to understand and sits next to me with a massive sigh. He’s all raw strength and sheer power, carefully controlled. I can feel it waving towards me, sense it in the contraction of his fingers around his knees, in the steady, unbreakable yet delicate outline of his jaw, and I also see on his face the strange longing for peace and quiet, a longing I’ve never felt in Loki, that I’d never want to feel in him. And I understand that Thor believes I should go away, because he knows I’d never bring to his brother the calm everyone thinks he needs. Perhaps they’re right.

         I can guess he’s going to speak and I wait for the words. “My father said that maybe you had already gone back home. I knew you wouldn’t leave without saying your goodbyes.”

         “You were right,” I answer. _You have no idea how right you are. What would you do if you knew?_ “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to sit around and wait for the war to be over.”

         “I understand. You will be safer on Earth.”

         _I don’t want to be safer_. Silence stretches out for long seconds, but this time I eventually get up to leave. I don’t have time to waste with him; I want to go back to Loki, even for a few hours. “Goodbye it is, then,” I say.

         Thor looks up at me with a kind smile. “You staying here might have worked, after all,” he answers. I don’t answer and start walking away. “But I believe he made the right decision in not keeping you.”

         I freeze. I’m not sure I heard him properly. Again, I have to thank deep-rooted conversation reflexes, because I know I can’t just let him show how stunned I am by asking him to repeat. The part of my brain that hasn’t been rendered completely useless by his sentence finds a way to discover the truth on its own. “Your father’s decisions were always wise,” my voice says. I turn around to face Thor again.

         He laughs. “I doubted that when he told Loki he could choose freely between keeping you here and sending you back.” I swallow; it’s painful. “I can’t hide you I was afraid he would only see his interest in having you at hand and overlook your safety.”

         I struggle to keep standing. I should dismiss all of this and run away, a part of me says. I should continue asking questions, I can’t be reluctant to understand, another answers. The latter wins. “You didn’t expect him to do that, did you?” There’s no telling why I pretend I know everything about it.

         Thor doesn’t even notice I’m in shock. I could collapse out of mere pain right now that he wouldn’t understand why. “I certainly didn’t,” he says. “After Father inquired about whether Loki wanted you to stay or to leave, I explained to him that he had to understand what consequences it would have on your life, what it would mean for you. He smiled and asked if he had my gracious permission to contemplate what it meant for him. I refused him.”

         I swallow again but my throat muscles start cramping. I can’t even consider laughing at the utter stupidity of Thor’s answer.

         “I will be very honest with you, Eileen Weaver. I think that my brother shamed himself by taking advantage of you in so blatant a way. I am now used to Loki being sarcastic and spiteful, but at that moment I barely refrained from attacking him, so he’d take his words back. For our father’s sake I strove to stay calm and tried hurting Loki’s pride by saying he ought to have understood your art on his own and shouldn’t need you.”

         He smiles, he’s so happy with himself, and to my growing horror I note the urge to rip his head off getting stronger inside me. I keep it in check and continue staring.

         “My words kindled an anger I had never seen in him, and Father commanded me to leave the two of them alone to solve the difficulty.”

         I lean on a tree to hide my shaking, but he’s not looking at me anyway. I’m cold. I can hear wings flapping in the branches, as if the birds hiding there shivered with me. One of them croaks.

         “When Loki walked out after their conversation, I was pleased to hear him say he had decided to allow you home; that you had discussed it beforehand and that it was the only sensible course of action. I was proud of him, and I told him so. I thought he deserved to know he had made the right choice.” He sighs and looks at me. I hope my face is as still as it feels. I’ve always known Loki would do something of the sort. He never said he wanted me to stay; he didn’t even lie to me about it. I knew it would be painful. Sense had warned me. “He would have hurt you, you know,” Thor continues. “Cheated on you, lied to you, made you doubt everything you ever believed in.”

         I have to make a conscious effort to unclench my teeth. “I know,” I croak.

         “I know how difficult this is going to be for both of you. I’ve been through absence too, all because of Loki, and you might think I’m trying to make him pay, but this is not my intention. I like to entertain the belief that today he eventually understood what it cost, not making a decision founded on his benefits only. For once, he wasn’t selfish. Perhaps he can now see why I renounced my own happiness for others’ safety.”

         I know he’s referring to how he destroyed every possibility of ever seeing his woman back on Earth to save the world of the Frost Giants from Loki’s rage. He didn’t know the bridge could be repaired, at the time. And I want to kill him, crush his wish to teach his brother about righteous self-sacrifice, shatter his certitudes about renouncing and burn to ashes the feeling of grandeur in his heart.

         _I won’t spare you_ , I vow. I will break him with the same minuteness I’ll use to break the others. I’ll find a way. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been and will never be able to experience the apparent sweetness of abnegation, maybe it’s because I’ve seen too many filthy, disgusting men scrambling for sacrifice to get rid of their guilt that I can’t see the so-called beauty of it. As if it could ever level the horrors, as if the horrors had to be cleaned, as if nobody could ever proudly acknowledge their sins. I can’t imagine Loki trying to compensate for his sins. It’s impossible. What has Thor done, what has he said to make my Loki consider altruism?

         There’s no air in that garden. I should have stayed in my room, in my bed. I should have woken Loki up and told him he could sleep later, and I would never have known, I would never have learnt. But it’s too late now, I can’t overlook this, I can’t forget what I heard. I wish I could.

         Thor looks at the ground again. “But he will never acknowledge he did it for you, to protect you, even if I know that’s what happened. He simply said that anyway he didn’t need you to stay.” He frowns. “Now that you’re leaving, I think I can tell you something… I shouldn’t. But… never mind. You deserve to know, too. When Loki walked out after making his decision, I saw that Father looked almost sad of this outcome.”

         Is his bland analysis of the situation supposed to be an attempt at compensating my disappointment? I’m so sure he thinks he’s being nice. I don’t need anyone to be _nice_ to me!

         I’m vexed; I’m sad; I’m reassured, too, comforted in my cleverness because I expected all this to happen, I expected the pain. But above all I’m contemplating a terrible, immense, overwhelming anger. At Odin, at Thor, at Loki, at myself, at the entire universe, because I find this end for my adventure in Asgard ridiculous and childish and I wanted to leave proudly, hiding my grief at losing him, keeping it safe inside me as a reminder of my stay here; I wanted the expected pain to happen in a different way.

         And yet it would have been the same pain. There’s a deep sensation of hollowness in my stomach. It isn’t that my heart has been ripped out, it’s the totality of my insides, bowels and diaphragm and womb and lungs, my ribcage open, vomiting blood and regret. I turn around and walk away hesitantly, without a word. I have to confront Loki. It’s the only way out for me.

         “Farewell, Eileen Weaver,” Thor calls out. “I wish you happiness and success, and perhaps we will meet again on Earth.”

         _Pray to yourself that we don’t._


	16. I will know it if you lie

My surroundings are muffled by the slow, intent pulse of rage overwriting all my senses. I don’t hear, I don’t feel the ground under my feet, I barely see where I’m going, the only reality is the taste of blood in my mouth. I burst into my room and slam the door closed behind me, wishing to startle Loki, scare him out of sleep and tear him from his dreams as I have been torn from mine. I’m as desperate as I’m angry and I blink back the sting in my eyes. I can’t cry. Not now.

    “Eileen? Is that you?” He was already awake. He walks to me, fastening some accessory on his clothes with irritating facility. “I woke up and you had left.” There’s a hint of reproach in his voice that I’m both delighted and furious to hear. “I was getting ready to go after you.” I’m not sure why I let him take me in his arms. “But now I don’t need to,” he’s saying in my ear. “I would have… _hated_ to waste time looking for you.” He kisses me and for a long second I forget everything, the rage, the pain, the frustration. It’s better if I forget, I know it. It’s better if I pretend to accept my fate silently, as any sensible person should do. It’s easier to forgive and forget when I’m being kissed by him, held in his arms. His skin smells of us. “Were you enjoying a last walk in the garden? I know you will miss it.”

    Anger boils up in my blood immediately and I push him away with a strength I never knew I had. Oh, wait, of course I knew, but I realize I had never used it against him. Until now.

    He backs away and anger swiftly replaces puzzlement by on his face. “What is wrong with you?”

    “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask him. My voice has this strange quality again, but it’s the least of my worries right now.

    “Tell you what?”

    But he knows what I’m talking about, he’s read it on my face, and I don’t want to waste time with being subtle. I’m too angry for that. “The Allfather gave you a choice and that you chose to send me back.”

    Oh dear. This, on his face, in his eyes, _is_ anger. It only fuels mine even more. “How did you come to know?”

    “I walked into your dear brother and he couldn’t stop himself from mewling how proud he was that you had sacrificed your… your schemes or your contentment or independence, whatever he thought you cherish, so I could go safely home.”

    Loki stays motionless for a moment, a statue dedicated to violence. Then he snaps out of this state and starts towards the door. “He will die for that.”

    “Why, Loki? Because he revealed your lies, or because it would make you look weak if anyone thought maybe you did have to give something up, give me up?” He doesn’t answer and walks past me, so I step in his path to stop him and take hold of his wrists when he tries to push me aside. “No, you’re not going anywhere until I know exactly why you decided to send me back without even telling me we had the choice.” I look into his eyes. “Even if your answer is that you don’t want me here.” Again he tries to push me away but I resist and I feel the power invading my body, tinting the world purple again, just like in the healing room, when I thought he was dead. The memory of my anguish makes me angrier still and I push a few steps backwards, my fingers closing tighter.

    “Eileen,” he says. “You’re… you’re hurting me!”

    I relish the surprise on his face. “Good,” I answer. “ _Now_ I want you to hurt.”

    Something like insecurity passes over his features. Not fear; he’s not afraid of me. Not yet. I laugh, elated by the sheer strength in my limbs. I have the power to hurt him. And now he knows it. “Tell – me – everything,” I utter steadily. His jaw clenches and his eyes scan my face. I feel the bones of his wrists roll under my palms as his hands try to writhe free. Eventually he nods and I let go, but I stay between him and the door; I won’t let him escape. “Make it quick and don’t lie. I will know it if you lie.”

    He backs away from me, breathing loudly, rubbing his wrists. “Thor is once more illustrating the incongruous depth of his stupidity,” he starts. “He never only heard a fragment of the conversation I had with his father and believed his ridiculous arguments had convinced me.” He pauses and smiles, maybe waiting for my own amused reaction at his brother’s illusions, but he gets nothing. “After the ceremony, the Allfather did offer me a choice. If we both wanted it, he could allow you to stay here. On one condition.”

    “Which was? Thor never mentioned a condition.”

    “He had already left at that moment. You could be allowed to live the remainder of your extended life here if the Allfather was absolutely certain your loyalty to me would be faultless, and the only way he could know that was for you to understand what it truly meant if you stayed.”

    That question again; I still have no answer to it. “Why not simply explain what it means?”

    “Will you let me finish speaking? I –” he seems to be struggling with something. “I told Father what you had promised me earlier today. That you would take revenge for me regardless of what I had done to your people. He kindly informed me that he knew about this detail and enquired whether I thought it was proof enough.”

    _Is it?_ I want to ask, and yet I’m unable to speak.

    “I was on the brink of answering that yes, it was.” My brain hurts as I hear the words. “And he knew it, oh, of course he knew what I craved to say, how much I wanted him to understand, because he held his hand up to stop me. ‘Before you speak,’ he said, ‘I wish to know how much she revealed about what happens in the books she knows about.’ And he smiled.”

    A sensation in my lungs reminds me that I’m supposed to breathe. I do it slowly, so I don’t gasp for air.

    “Again, I repeated your words, about Thor never effectively ruling over Asgard. The Allfather asked, ‘what else?’”

    I’m cold.

    “And you hadn’t told me anything else.”

    I’m hot.

    “I was unable to answer.”

    I’m queasy.

    I want to say he had made me swear not to speak and that my whole being rebelled at the idea of keeping the secret, but that I just couldn’t speak. Nothing comes.

    “His smile became wider. ‘So, she’s still obeying me,’ he simply whispered. He was right. I was going to let you stay, to place me at my side, giving you more than any mortal could ever dream of, and you were still refusing to defy my father about a few old books. I know it, Eileen, you would never have told me. Regardless of the numerous times I asked. Regardless of how important this is to me.”

    I know I should feel even more enraged, but there’s nothing left inside me to fuel a reaction other than “old asshole,” and I don’t even dare think it too loudly. Odin knew I would never disobey this specific order, not to keep my word, but because he had bet on my stubborn refusal to add anything to Loki’s conscience. And he turned it against me, to make Loki doubt me, to avoid him regretting me, to make him reject me. Protecting him from knowing was the most decent thing I did here, and it was used to destroy me. _I will never do anything decent again,_ I swear to myself.

    “You will always be more loyal to my father than to me, Eileen.”

    My voice comes back after I take a few deep breaths. “If you let him convince you of that, then you didn’t really want me to stay or you would have overlooked it. You don’t need to make excuses.” He frowns; that wasn’t the reaction he expected, I can tell it from the look on his face. But I’m just tired now, too tired to be angry. I’d better just say everything before they send me home and I can go back to my pills and my whisky as soon as I’ve driven half the agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. mad. “I wasn’t pretending anything, that day you were hurt, and I’m sure you know it. It wasn’t an act, I realized I really, deeply cared about you. I was terrified at the very idea that you might be dead, and I defied your father. For Christ’s sake, even the first time, I hadn’t understood it then but I couldn’t bear seeing your face when he told you not to call him father!” I swallow. “I still don’t know what happened in the healing room, but I remember pushing Thor away and knocking somebody else out of consciousness, losing complete control over myself. That’s when I decided I’d better leave as soon as whoever wanted you dead had been properly annihilated. I said wanted to help, and even that was a lie I told myself, the truth being that I couldn’t consider leaving. It didn’t get any better; you’ve seen it. You _know_ it.” It’s not dawn yet, but the sky is turning greyish in the corners. “That’s why it was so difficult keeping everything I know a secret. That’s why I didn’t tell you more than Thor never having effective power.” I’m panting now, the words racing to come out. “So here I am, everything you find weak and despicable, and if you had even thought of asking me, I would have lied, I would have told your father I understood what he meant even if I don’t. Because there’s nothing I want more than staying here with you.” That’s it. It’s out. “I want to stay, I want you to keep me, I want everything, the sins, the madness, the ego, the lies and the tricks, the doubts and the tears, I want all of it and more of it every day, every night.” _Until we all die._

    The tears I felt brimming up inside my eyes dry out instantly as scorn creeps up Loki’s face. “Why would you want that? Because you think your feelings, your caring, will be of any use to me? Maybe that you will care enough, love me enough, who knows, to… to _help_ me?” He loads the word with spite. I feel my head tilt to the side. “How pathetic,” he spits out. “How bland.” I start smiling. “How… human.”

    The laughter that comes out of me isn’t mine. Or at the very least it doesn’t sound like mine. There’s a need to bite, a need to kill, that I never knew I could experience. “I’m not letting you hurt my pride to force me to leave. I wasn’t lying when I said I would never try to change you, but you like being alone, don’t you? You enjoy that little part of yours you’ve created, that teenager’s act of misunderstood pain and anger. I know very well that it will never matter how much I might love you, you will always find it more interesting to play the bad guy.” I scarcely take the time to breathe so he can’t answer. “Once I’ve brought your revenge to Earth, and I will, I promised it, I’ll tell my… colleagues that the worst they could do would be to forget about you altogether. Because you crave the attention, you are so proud, and vain, and twisted, that being satisfied with your skills and brain wasn’t enough anymore, you had to show them. You don’t just want validation or credit, Loki, stop pretending that. You want all the others to never have validation again, rip them of all dignity and self-respect and see them lose their sanity over it.” I feel my eyelids twitch. “Let me promise you something: when I’m finished with doing this to your enemies for you, I will convince them to never pay attention to you ever again.” My voice is lower than I ever heard it. And also higher than I ever thought it could be. I have two voices, and I don’t care. “I hope it makes you so angry that you destroy everything here, so you can at last bear out your destiny of chaos and death bringer!” I can’t believe I’ve said it. I’m not even sure he understood the real meaning of what I’ve revealed to him. But I really, really want him to hurt.

    Loki seems to hesitate, maybe unsettled by the sound of my voice, but he masters his surprise and scoffs. “And you believe, delusional as you are, that if you stay you will provide enough attention to… prevent me from making the rest of the world acknowledging my superiority?” His voice is so acid it seems to burn my eardrums. “You are far from being enough to save anything. Speaking of parts, I will _not_ let you have the good one here. I have to thank Thor for that, at the very least; his misunderstanding has shown me how to get the best out of this situation your recklessness has precipitated me in.”

    He didn’t understand a single thing about me, I realize. I smile at him. “Loki, because you are better than humans doesn’t mean you understand them; doesn’t mean you understand me. I’m not sacrificing my life to protect the world from your anger. I’m not deciding to be the comforting shoulder you can cry on when you’ve been vexed. I was doing this for my own agreement, for the mere satisfaction I felt when I was with you, and perhaps the self-satisfaction that came with knowing that you, Loki, of all people, had come to tolerate my presence. I’m being selfish; I want you all to myself, I don’t want to share you. If I let myself dream, I’d wish I was the only one to ever make you angry, not because I want to shield the world from you, but because that would mean you listen to me, and me only.” I’m not sure, but I think that might take him slightly aback. He doesn’t answer. I hold my head high and square my shoulders. I’m feeling strong again and it’s a good feeling. _That_ looks like the dignified parting I’ve always imagined. “But you don’t want me here. So goodbye, Loki.” I scan him slowly from head to toe. “It was a real pleasure meeting you.” And I turn around.

    There’s a short, puzzled silence. “You say you care,” he breathes out. If he had laughed, as a small part of me knew he could have, I would have left. But his tone compels me to wait for another second. “You can’t understand,” he mutters.

    “Yes,” I say with my back still to him, “your father was particularly clear about that last point.”

    “You sing all these pretty songs, but you have no idea what you’re talking about. Maybe you can hope to prevent what I’m destined to do, but you can’t erase what I’ve done.”

    I can’t leave without telling him. In spite of all my anger, my sadness, my disappointment, he has to know. “Don’t mistake what you’re about to hear.” I turn to face him again. “With what you said tonight, I will never want to stay here.” I even walk closer and run my finger on the hem of his neckline. “But you must understand.” I look up and search his eyes. “I’ve helped you even after you tried to kill me. I can live with you having tried to enslave my planet. I have seen how you treat people here. I know who you are, and I accept it.” Something tugs at my brain. “No,” I quickly add. “Accept isn’t the right word. I do not love you despite the horror past and the one to come, the one you don’t even suspect. I love you because of it.”

    He shakes his head. “Because of the horror… You don’t know what I have done. And you don’t know how proud of it I am. Maybe that’s what Father meant; that’s what I have to make you understand. I’m not just… an entertaining nuisance.” He backs away and starts picking the rest of his clothes up before opening my drawers and upsetting the neat piles I’d made. He pulls out a cloak and boots and tosses them at me. “I would advise you to cover yourself more, Eileen Weaver. We are going to be very cold.”


	17. I stare. He stares back.

“Oh, my G–”

    The wind tears off the rest of the words along with all the air in my lungs, the cold making my eyes close in pain. I double over instinctively to keep the heat inside me and take short, tiny intakes of air to warm it up before it reaches the fragile sponges inside my chest. From what I sense, I’m ankle-deep in snow, wind slashing at my face, it’s dark, and above all it’s so cold I don’t even think this word is still appropriate.

    It isn’t a sneaky cold, one that lures you into believing you’re warm and then seeps inside you without you knowing. Here the cold grabs your insides and punches you all over, asserting its authority from the start by beating the hell out of you and leaving you shattered. I open my eyes slowly, carefully, and observe my surroundings. I seem to be alone. I can’t see Loki among the grey and blue shadows and I strain to hear his footsteps, but there’s an intent whistle everywhere. It’s the wind, I realize.

    I take a few steps, tightening the too-thin cloak around my body. I can barely see five feet ahead of me. “Loki? Where are you?” There’s no answer other than the shrieking gusts of wind. I shiver, both because of the insane cold and of the panic swelling inside me. I’m alone on a frozen piece of rock I assume is the land of the Frost Giants, and nobody knows I’m here. A thought pops in my head; maybe Loki wants the cold to kill me, so he doesn’t have to do it himself. Well. Murdered by a god. Better than sleeping pills.

    I take another step and stumble upon a rock hidden by snow. I fall and the cloak almost escapes, my fingers too numb to hold it tight enough. I’m now drenched in melted snow that’s already turning back into ice on my clothes, tightening the fabric in a deadly grip. I consider not getting up at all; falling asleep in the snow can’t be that painful. I hear myself chuckle.

    Then I feel his arms around me and he’s helping me up from the snow. I’m both relieved and terrified. I notice he’s wearing his full armour, with cloak and helmet. And I don’t find any of it absurd, right now. “Don’t stay behind,” he shouts over the wind.

    “Don’t leave me behind,” I answer, but I don’t speak loud enough for him to hear.

    I let him lead me towards the shadows, and I know he’s worried that we’re too slow in leaving exposed ground from the way he darts his eyes left and right as he walks and I only manage to stumble forward. I try to hurry despite having no sensation of my feet whatsoever, but I don’t even know how I keep on moving my legs.

    This place is desolation itself. My desperate attempts at not seeing the ruins and rubble are doomed to failure and I end up making myself stare at the upturned ground because I suspect that’s why Loki brought me here. It seems the initial force of chaos suddenly decided to reverse creation and tried to make the entire planet go back to nothingness. The wind moans in pain as it rips its sides on the sharp edges of the stone. We walk past a gaping chasm, lips of crevassed rock opening in a toothless grin into which the currents of air stream towards the centre of the world.

    “I’m responsible for all this,” Loki says. “This is where I come from. This is what I did to my _mother country_.” I can’t tell if he’s proud or bitter. I suspect he can’t tell either.

    Eventually, we’ve walked far enough to be shielded from the wind by a wall that hasn’t crumbled down, or that was rebuilt, I’m not sure. I hear another kind of whistling and turn my head towards the sound. My eyes register the shape travelling fast, headed to my side. I don’t move. Loki’s hand dashes in front of me and closes around a small, pointy… piece of ice? I wonder how he was fast enough to catch it and look up at him. He looks angry and shatters the icicle in his closed fist. It makes me feel safer. A little. Not that much, since I can see tall figures slowly gathering around us.

    “Stay close to me,” he whispers in my ear. The side of his helmet touches my cheek as he does and the metal is so cold it hurts my skin.

    “Too bad,” I answer, “I had a craving to explore this place.”

    But he doesn’t laugh. “And be quiet.” I think I’d better do as he says, for once.

    “Did you really think we would not be expecting your visit, Laufeyson?” a deep voice asks. One of the giants walks out of the shadows and advances towards us. I instinctively get closer to Loki, who doesn’t move an inch. “We suspected you would try and attack us while our best warriors were in Asgard.”

    Loki smiles widely. “I do not come with hostile intentions,” he says, exposing his hands to show he has no weapon. _He has no weapon????_

    The giant stops walking and looks down towards us, but I don’t think he sees me. “We do not care about your intentions. You are not leaving Jotunheim.”

    “The time has not yet come for me to fulfil the promise the Allfather made to your people.”

    “Then why are you here?”

    “Yes, Loki,” I hear myself say. So much for obeying him. “Why are we here?” On the other hand, I would really like to know what the hell he was thinking when he decided to bring me here.

    The giants seem to notice my presence at last. “Who is this?”

    _I’m Eileen Weaver_ , the words form inside my head, but Loki’s icy hand closes around the nape of my neck and I stay silent.

    “Our friend wanted to see with her own eyes the place I almost destroyed.” I can’t help thinking reminding them of it is extremely stupid and dangerous. But then, it’s Loki, and he’s probably sure he will walk out of here unharmed thanks to some twisted idea he came up with.

    “Mh,” the giant says. “So she’s the one the Allfather called the Victory Weaver?” That name again. It reminds me of something I’ve heard, maybe read before, but where? I dig in my memory, but I’m too cold to think and give up.

    “She was curious about the worst I had ever done.”

    Ok, so this time I am going to tell him this is unwisely provocative. But the words are frozen in my mouth. I think I can’t move anymore, I need all my concentration to continue breathing and it barely works. When Loki lets go of my neck I catch his arm and have to cling to it to simply stand.

    “We were paying a respectful visit to our new allies,” he says. “We will now return to where we came from.”

    The giant’s smile is so full of cruelty I suddenly understand where Loki got his grins from. “But this is your world; here is where you come from, Loki Laufeyson. Why would you want to leave? You are home, despite what the Allfather would have everyone believe.”

    “I will come back,” Loki says. “I swear it.”

    “We don’t believe you. Seize them.”

    This is going wrong. Loki tenses up. “If I don’t reach Asgard safely, the Allfather will never give you your casket back.”

    “But we will have our revenge.” I’m not cold enough not to understand that dozens of Frost Giants surrounding us is not a good sign, but I feel strangely elated about it.

    “No! Don’t touch her.” Loki bends towards me. “If they do, your skin will burn.” I nod.

    “I see,” the giant facing us whispers. “I will let you leave, then. But to be certain you will come back I want the human to stay here until you do. As a token of your sincerity.”

    Loki’s lips twitch in an aborted smile and I understand I’m going to die in his birthplace. I can’t help smiling at his final plan. He can’t keep me, he doesn’t trust me, he doesn’t want to share me; the solution? Let everyone believe the Frost Giants have killed me. It’s close to perfect, I have to admit it. Neat and beautiful, so much more elegant than anything I could ever make up. It even ensures the Giants’ help in the alliance, if they want the Allfather’s mercy. I laugh like a madwoman and the sound of it startles everyone, even the giants. Knowing that I will die soon has given my heart an ultimate kick and it starts wildly pumping blood back into my frozen extremities. I don’t tell Loki I’ve understood his plan, but he knows I have, and I hope he also knows I will never disclose it even if I survive because it’s too pretty to be ruined.

    So I stop laughing and let go of his arm to walk away. I don’t look back, and this is why I see the flash of malice in the giant’s eyes as he nods curtly. I hear deep laughter and whirl around. Three other giants have taken hold of Loki. “No!” I scream. “I had agreed to stay!”

    “I’ve changed my mind,” the one who seems to be their leader says. I feel something rumbling inside me and I look up at the blue, hard face far above me. “Go away. This is none of your concern, and there’s nothing you can do.”

    _That’s what you believe._ I try to reach deep down to trigger a similar outburst of strength that overwhelmed me in the healing room. I can feel it purring in my stomach, a warm, purple ball of power I yet have to learn to manipulate. Now is the best moment to try; it might be my only chance. I breathe and let the ball expand inside me, enclosing me in coloured haze streaked with black. This is strange, but I think I like it. And I sure hope it’s enough.

    The leader of the giants laughs. “I had forgotten how Allfather delights in making people believe they are stronger.”

    “I will not leave this place without Loki,” I simply say. Nothing happens over a few seconds.

    And then the giant only laughs some more and gestures at something behind me. “Look at who you’re ready to die for, woman.” I turn to face Loki again. I stare. He stares back, squirming in vain, trying to wrench free from the giants’ grip. His helmet lies at his feet, half-buried in the snow.

    I knew he was a Frost Giant. I’ve always known.

    I just wasn’t prepared.

    I stare.

    He stares back.

    Red.

    He’s Loki. With blue skin, a scarred face, red eyes.

    But he’s still like him. No. Not true. He’s _more_ like him than ever.

    When he’s with them.

    I stare.

    He laughs. “Now you’re seeing me, Eileen. Now you understand. I told you, you had so many pretty words to explain you understood, but you had no idea what you were talking about.”

    He’s terrible and beautiful and scary. _He’s mine_ , I want to tell them. _Even when you’re touching him and making him one of yours._ I smile and take a step towards him, making the anger shrink back inside me; I don’t need to be threatening anymore. It didn’t work anyway. To do what I want to do now, to be who I want to be, I don’t need the power the Allfather has granted me. Step by step in the snow, my back straight, my gaze never leaving the crimson pits of light his own eyes have become, I bridge up the distance between us.

    “This is what I am. A monster. I’ve tried to forget it, to erase that truth; I couldn’t. I tried to pretend I wasn’t; it was a mistake. I tried to live up to it. I failed. But now I am here and I understand something too. I don’t want you to make me look like anything else. I don’t need you, Eileen Weaver. You don’t have to write my story anymore.”

    I don’t answer and keep walking. I let go of my cloak and it goes to wrap itself around a pike, but the wind is a breeze for me. This is my final walk. This is how I die: the best part in his beautiful plan. Two giants run to me and grab my now naked arms. My skin blackens immediately and this specific pain I feel, sharp and deep, reaching to the marrow in my bones. I shudder but my only concern is that I’m still too far from Loki. I twist to free myself.

    “Get her closer,” the leader of the giants is saying. “Let her see him. Let her feel the cold.” That’s even better, it will all be the Giants’ fault.

    I am now standing in front of Loki and I find myself freed. “If she kills him,” the giant is whispering, “let her.”

    “You’re an idiot; you should have run away when they told you to,” Loki screams. “I’ll hold them back, you can still leave.”

    _You don’t have to lie anymore._ “Never,” I tell him. I look into the red eyes and wrap my fingers around his face, exhaling deeply to let the sting shoot through me as my skin dies. My hands are coated in pain, every nerve raw with it. I hear the Frost Giants howl in laughter.

    “No,” Loki whispers, understanding spreading on his face. “It will kill you.”

    “I hope so,” I say. And I kiss him.

    Torture.

    My lips burn, my tongue burns, my gums burn, my throat burns, and at the same time I’m swallowing large gulps of cold, plain hard cold that’s filling me up. There are so many shadows of pain inside me in a beautiful painting of stinging and throbbing and icy pounding. My brain splits open with the cold he’s giving me, the death I’m drinking from him. The low rumble of the giants’ laughter drums inside my ears along with the deep beating of my heart. It’s slowing down.

    My voice is gone. I can’t keep to my feet and my lips leave his when I collapse on my knees, and then on my side.

    The snow is warm. I think I can go to sleep now. I need sleep. It’s exhausting, living up to one’s own expectations.

    What’s happening around reaches me in fragments. I hear a voice screaming “No,” I hear even more voices laughing. I hear the snow breathing under me. The soft, soft snow. It doesn’t melt when it touches my skin. There are drums somewhere, beating a slow and steady rhythm. I glimpse movement and strain to keep my eyes open long enough to see Loki free himself from the giants and manage to steal a weapon. His movements are so swift and precise. He looks at me for half a second. “Don’t you dare close your eyes,” he tells me.

    His skin is gradually losing the icy hue that betrayed his birth. I blink once. The Jotuns have stopped laughing. My heart has stopped beating.

I blink again.

    My breath freezes. My eyelids never get to complete the third blink and stay closed.

 

 

    Goodbye, Loki. I’ll see you after the end of time.


	18. Not anymore

 

         Drenched and too cold to shiver.

 

Pain everywhere in my brain.

I am hurt.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Who is “I”?

 

 

_Eileen Victoire Weaver, 27, living in –_

 

I miss the beating of my heart.

 

* * *

 

 

Where am I?

 

 

 

         It’s dark in here. I can hear confused noises. “Get out!” somebody shouts and I don’t know whether it’s the voice or the sudden, violent warmth slammed into my stomach, but these two words order the cold out of me.

 

 

         My heart starts beating again and sends blood all over my limp body.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

This is the second time I do not die.

 

 

 

         I don’t open my eyes but I can now tell there’s bright light behind my eyelids. There’s something heavy and warm on the pit of my stomach. With the blood comes more pain, mostly in my hands and arms, and in my throat. I gasp for air.

 

 

 

 

But.

 

 

I can’t breathe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

I’m terrified when I realize none of the muscles inside me react to the impulses I’m giving them. Then I understand that since my heart is working and my brain sending these impulses, I can calm down.

I?

 

 

_Eileen  
_

 

* * *

 

 

I don’t calm down.

 

 

 

         My eyes shoot open and the light stings so I close them immediately again. Ok, so this is working too. I can hear a lot of noise. I would have thought death more quiet; but then I already had that illusion about dying the first time, and look how it turned out.

         Sarcasm: check. I might not be in so serious a condition, after all. But why am I still not breathing? I feel a great shiver all over my body.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

         “She’s back!” I hear a woman’s voice say. I think it’s Sif. More noise and voices. Footsteps.

         “Eileen, can you hear me?” This is Loki’s voice. I smile. My face doesn’t respond. So I nod slowly. “Move,” he says. I try. _I’m sorry, my love, I can’t,_ I want to tell him. But this doesn’t work either. “Keep that on her,” he’s saying. He’s not talking to me. I feel movement, the warm weight being pressed harder on my body, then my head being lifted and his arm around me. I open my eyes again, carefully this time, letting the light seep in gradually.

         I’m on the floor; I can see the chandeliers where all the light comes from, hanging from the ceiling. The healing room, I think. So; I survived. Loki is kneeling next to me, his arm around my shoulders, pulling me up, laying my head on his knees. If I wasn’t in so much pain and terror I would find it perfect. But I _am_ in so much pain and terror. I have to tell them it hurts. I can’t.

         I confusedly sense other people around. Sif is the one holding the warm weight to my chest, but there are many more voices and whispers. Why is there always a crowd in that room when somebody is injured? It doesn’t make sense. Wounded people need quiet and privacy.

         But I don’t care about the others; I look up at Loki. I think I see blood on his face but I don’t register if he seems angry, or anything, I’m too concentrated on keeping my own pain under control. And anyway the only thing that matters is that we are both alive. He bends over me. “Eileen, I know you’re weak, but you must tell us: can you move your fingers?”

         I frown. I don’t understand, I feel slow, so slow. And I can’t even ask him to repeat.

         “She needs treatment,” somebody says. I’m not sure I recognize the voice. I’m not sure I care.

         Loki’s face contracts and I wish I could tell him not to pay attention. This time my effort to speak causes sharp pain in my lungs and I feel I start breathing again. Slow, short intakes of air. It only hurts some more. “We have all the treatment needed,” Loki says. “I thought I had commanded you to leave.”

         “I’m not going anywhere,” the voice says. “One of us is hurt and I –”

         “She’s not one of yours.” Are they talking about me? Trying to understand hurts my head so much.

         “Oh please, I know you’ve painfully been trying to hide it, but she’s human, I’ve heard people talking.” They are. They are talking about me.

         “Not anymore,” Odin’s calm voice answers. I try to turn my eyes to him but my head is spinning and it only makes me want to cry from exhaustion. I’m so tired, why can’t they just let me sleep? I’m sure I could fall asleep right now and when I wake up Loki would still be here, holding me. “Thor,” Odin is saying, “could you take everyone out, please?”

         _Good,_ I think. _Maybe I’ll sleep, now._ I let my eyes close as I hear Thor talking and people answering and doors closing.

         But Loki’s voice keeps me from slumber. “No, no, no, Eileen, don’t do that again.”

         “You have to stay awake,” Sif explains. “We must know if you can move your hands. If you can, we’ll heal your face and throat immediately.”

         Heal my face? What the –? The panic makes me dizzier still. I breathe as deeply as pain will allow me and send a powerful order to my arms. I lift them up. A scream pierces my brain as my eyes fall upon the dark mess I have in place of fingers and palms and wrists. But they’re moving. What happened? I check every articulation, observing the blackened skin, getting more and more horrified with every second.

         My last memory is… I was falling; before that I was kissing Loki, and even before that I had my hands on his face and –.

         Oh dear Lord.

         My fingers rush to my lips but I don’t feel anything anywhere. I look up at Loki to make him understand my panic. If my hands are burnt, then my face must be…

         He seems to understand my silent question. “It’s even worse,” he says. “Don’t worry, sensations will come back before very long.”

         “But the burns on the outside don’t matter,” Sif explains in a hurried voice. _Oh, really?_ “They will heal on their own.” I feel her moving next to me. “The danger is that you were frozen from the inside. That device here has saved your brain, your heart and part of your lungs.” _Ok, that would be the warm thingy you’re pressing into me._ “But I still have to defrost many organs.” She sighs. “I don’t even know how you survived. It would have been enough to kill three Asgardians.”

         “She’s part of the story, now,” Odin whispers. But nobody else but me seems to have heard.

         Loki bends lower and whispers into my ear, “That was so stupid a move to make that words are failing me.”

         _Yes, it was. I won’t do it again, not even to help you. Too much pain._ I wish he could hear me.

         Sif speaks deliberately slowly. “I am going to take the warming stone away from your heart and move it up to your throat. You didn’t notice it earlier because you were unconscious, but the thawing is very, very painful. The other half of your lungs is still frozen, that’s why it hurts when you breathe, and that’s why you have to stop.”

         _What?_ I’m not sure I understand.

         Loki grabs my jaw and makes me look at him. “Listen to me. I want you to hold your respiration as long as the stone isn’t back on your heart. You can’t master its beating and this will cause sufficient pain without the agony of trying to breathe without that.” His fingernail drums on the stone; it echoes inside my rib cage. “Of course, once we are finished, you will have to refrain from talking. Do you think you’ll be capable of doing so?” He smiles and I nod to tell them I’ve understood.

         “I’ll count to three,” Sif says. “One.”

         If I keep my eyes on Loki it will be easier.

         “Two.”

         Oh; I already am. I empty my lungs as much as I can.

         “Three.”

         I feel the battle of cold and warm seep into my lungs, stabbing every inch of my organs with thousands of tiny blades every time my heart pumps. The warmth crawls up to my throat and it’s like a river is streaming down my windpipe, I’m going to drown; gods, I’m drowning! I feel the urge to cough but I master it, blocking every impulse my body is giving me. If my vocal chords were in use, my scream would tear down the entire realm of Asgard.

         Loki was right; this hurts so much. I don’t immediately realize I can feel fabric under my fingers, and I suddenly see I’ve caught hold of his clothes, a tight grip that he doesn’t even try to ease. I am shaking; large, powerful shudders as the poisonous cold I took from Loki is chased away and his arms try to hold me still. He doesn’t seem worried; he doesn’t wince to show he understands what I’m going through. I don’t care. His eyes never leave mine and that’s the only important thing.

         But why do I have to endure the pain? What’s the idea behind all this? The reason? Is it punishment for my so-called sins? For my stupidity? Is it karma?

         Karma hurts. Seeing hurts. Not breathing hurts. Thinking hurts.

         Let me sleep, Loki. Please.

         And the agony stops. The ball of warmth slides back down to my heart, but I’m still waiting. Loki nods imperceptibly and I try taking in air, then exhaling. I start when I feel my own breath on my lips. Sensations are back. The air is soft in my trachea. I had never noticed how soft air was.

         _It worked!_ I think, and this time I sense my mouth moving, forming the words.

         “Of course it worked,” Loki says with a frown. “Did you not believe me?”

         “She’s safe,” Odin says.

         And this time I can turn to him without my stomach wanting to make escape to another of the Nine Realms. My lips part so I can say something, say thank you, say fuck off asshole, this is mostly your fault, but Loki silences me. “I told you not to speak. You will be in a better state soon. Be patient.” I look at him again. _I’ve never been patient. But I can try. You can’t send me back as long as I’m not better, can you?_

         Maybe he guesses what’s going through my mind, because for the first time since I opened my eyes he lifts his head up and looks at his father.

         There’s silence. Sif takes my hand and places it on the hot stone, then gets up and leaves without a word. Loki’s eyes are fixated on his father’s face; I don’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe an answer to a silent question only they know about. “Yes, Loki,” Odin says softly. “I don’t think she even realizes what she’s just done. I used to think it was the other way around, but now I believe she might be too good for you.”

         I shake my head. _No, I’m not._ I turn my head to Odin.

         His smile fades away at the expectation in my eyes. “But I still need her to see, truly, deeply see the consequences.”

         I frown. Loki frowns. “Father. Not now.”

         “Yes, now. If she stays without acknowledging who she is, who she has become, whose voice is the second one when she’s angry, then it will never work. There are many sorts of magic you still have to discover, Loki. Powerful forces even your former ally fears so much he never dared mentioned them to you, forces I may only use within strict rules.”

         I frown harder. I think I understand what he’s talking about, but I have no idea what exactly I’m supposed to see.

         “She has to find her name.”

         _Eileen Victoire Weaver._

         That’s when I have confirmation that Odin has always known about every thought that went through my mind, because he darts his eye at me and smiles. “Your new name. Your name in this story. Fair Victory Weaver.”

         “Is it in the books?” Loki asks.

         The Allfather laughs. “Yes, yes it is. In some of them. But to find it she must search in the details that were, most of the time, overlooked.” I remember our conversation. What I’m meant to see tugs at my brain as Odin looks at me intently. “In many threads you are associated with obligation and duty.” He smiles. “Search among my own many names, scholar. It might help.”

         I must find it. I must remember. I list the names, groping for the area where all of this is stored. Allfather. Svidre. Baleyg, the burning eye. Sigfather, the father of victory. Something clicks in my brain and understanding dawns on me. The one who weaves victory; loyalty; duty; my name in the books; the story between the lines.

         Sigyn. Loki’s loyal wife, they called her. The friend of victory, they said her name meant.

         I don’t feel panic, nor euphoria, not even a wave of overwhelming love. I do feel sheer physical strength streaming in my blood. I can’t tear my eyes off Odin’s.

         “You have it, now,” he simply says, and I nod.

         _You knew_ , I think. _You’ve always known._

         “I suspected. I wondered where we’d find her in this thread, I couldn’t see anyone like her, nobody who matched the descriptions. A woman who would be faithful enough, who would cling to her word strongly enough to take on the part; to cope with her own dismal future. Because you know what it means, don’t you, accepting that name?”

         I know. It means he will cheat on me, lie to me, make me doubt. Just as Thor said. It means a son for us. A son who will lose his life because of his father.

         It means being utterly alone and isolated for many years of my life.

         It means standing by Loki’s side up until the end. It means watching him destroy everything. Watching his torture and his pain.

         It means seeing him die.

         “At first, I wasn’t so sure,” Odin continues. “You seemed unable, unwilling to keep your word, Eileen Weaver, how could you be loyal? How could you respect a vow you made? This is why I deliberately confused you, so you wouldn’t discover what I deemed as the unwanted truth on your own.” _Confused me? As in, prevented me from thinking straight or something?_ He smiles and ignores my outraged thoughts. “But then I understood: I was clinging to a false image, based on already existing threads of story. I should have known that in this one, everything was bound to be different." I have no idea what he's talking about. "Loki would never make anyone, man or woman, stay with him out of obligation. You wouldn’t accept suffering out of duty, not even out of love, but because deep down in your heart, in your bones, you believe he’s right. Because you want to cause as much trouble as he does. Hence what I asked you weeks ago: what would we have done of a good-natured human?”

         Loki makes my head turn to him. “What is he talking about?”

         I just smile and I hope he understands what it means. _I can’t tell you right now, but I will. I will explain everything._

         I feel stronger. I feel more confident. I breathe and sit up. I’m uncomfortable, lying on the floor, I refuse to be weakened and looked down on. It doesn’t befit me, and I put the warm stone away. I don’t need it anymore. As I rest on Loki and we both get up, I realize I have what I’ve always wanted. A new book; a blank page; a great story to write. I’ll write her story in this… thread, I believe Odin called it. My story. Here, she’s new, she’s mine, she’s me. I am her and we are both his. She’ll accept everything and I will always make him pay.

         That’s who we are; I can make her anything I want. If Odin’s right, I can weave her as strong as it pleases me.

         And I want her daring. I want her powerful. I want her proud. I still can’t speak, so I can’t say it to Loki, but the Allfather will understand. I stand with my back straight, and I look at him with a smile. I will not say, “thank you very much, I accept”. _He has to ask,_ I think. **_You_** _have to ask._

Odin’s lips curl up, and there’s not a trace of cunning but a great amount of pride in his smile. “If you were asked now,” he starts, “would you decide to stay here?”

         I don’t answer but turn my gaze to Loki. I don’t expect anything, I don’t hope for a favourable answer. I wait for him to speak, and I hear Odin walk away. I don’t turn my head to watch him leave the room.

         I’m too busy observing doubt and pride, pain and anger, fear and want, satisfaction and… whatever _this_ shadowy twitch is, struggling on Loki’s face. _Ask me_ , I want to tell him.

         He scans my face and my figure, appreciative of something only he can see, since I’m burnt all over and covered in melted snow. “Will you tell me what you have understood?”

         I nod.

         “And I want you to tell me of the stories in the books. Will you do that?”

         I nod again. And an insane, impossible, utopian hope that maybe I can do something to change the story makes its way inside me, allowing me to understand Odin’s dreams and his eternal struggle.

         “Eileen, I think I know the answer you will give me because I can’t see why you would refuse. Will you stay in Asgard? Will you stay here and be my ally?”

         I nod for the third time, and catch the small flicker of light as it appears in his eyes. It wavers a little before settling there, a steady blend of calculation and satisfaction at having a brand new tool. Because I know that’s what I am. He smiles and kisses my frost-bitten lips while closing his fingers tightly around the nape of my neck, asserting his strength, his position, his possession.

         _I’m not afraid of you, my love,_ I think amidst the mild pain the deepening kiss causes. _I’m not afraid of life anymore. I know you will hurt me and I will hurt you, but in the end we’ll be together and I’ll be the one to sing you to death_. I don’t need to tell him this, he will see in time. A long time, I hope. _And before all of it happens, I’ll stand by your side. You will teach me how to kill and how to be cruel and how to be a weapon, your weapon, because that’s what I want to be. Because I too want to be feared and I don’t want any of us to change that. Because…_

         I break the kiss to allow myself a whisper. “I think I love you, Loki,” I barely mouth.

         He cringes. “You talk too much, Eileen Weaver. There are lies the best tongue can’t forge, and I will not attempt it.”

         I laugh and kiss him again. _I don’t need you to._

 

 

* * *

 

         What was I afraid of, thinking I couldn’t outwit a god? This was the best idea ever.

 


	19. Epilogue: And yet you're letting me.

    It’s the middle of the night when I eventually return to Asgard after long hours of work on Earth. I need sleep, but when I get to our apartment, Loki isn’t there. Of course, why was I even expecting to find him waiting? I consider going to bed all the same, but I know I’ll toss and turn and will end up putting my clothes back on and go looking for him. I only take time to discard the crumpled, sticky shirt and trousers I’m wearing to change into something more comfortable, in that case a loose tunic that barely reaches my knees. I consider a belt and stockings, that’s how this thing is supposed to be worn, but it’s far too warm for them. And anyway nobody is likely to report seeing me inappropriately dressed.

    There can’t be that many places he goes to during the night. The garden is empty, and I know he isn’t in a war meeting because Thor will remain on Earth for two more days. I still have to try the balcony over the now fully functional Rainbow Bridge and I decide to take a shortcut through the throne room, even if it’s supposed to be kept empty when the Allfather’s not there. But I don’t care because even if I get caught by Odin nothing will happen to _me_. I’ve got used to my new status quickly enough to know when I can take advantage of the whole “don’t touch her she’s Loki’s” atmosphere around me.

    I don’t even need to sneak inside the great hall; the few guards I meet on the way don’t stop me, they even pretend not to see me at all, and they have disappeared entirely when I reach the doors. Once I’m inside I understand why; Loki is standing there, at the foot of the massive golden throne, and I’m sure no soldier in this entire realm would dare confront both of us at the same time. I take a few steps and stop to observe him from afar. He’s leaning on a pillar, with his back to the entrance, and his eyes are fixated on the throne, his expression hard and resolute, as if he could make the seat his by the sheer power of his inflexible determination. I wonder for how long he’s been standing there and if he intended to stay all night long if I hadn’t come back early.

    “I’ve heard you,” he says without turning around, and his voice echoes in the empty hall.

    “I know.” I walk slowly and step in front of him. His eyes leave the throne to fall on me and I shake my head when I see how drawn his face is. I know he hates it when I’m concerned about his health, and yet I can’t help asking myself if he sleeps at all, even when I’m here. “Do you come here often when I’m away?” I ask him.

    “Sometimes.” He straightens up swiftly and extends his arm to pull me closer, hooking it around my waist. It comes to him so naturally that it makes me shiver in satisfaction. “You came back earlier than planned.”

    “Oh, I’m sorry I disturbed your reflexion.”

    “Bitter memories, rather,” he says with a faint smile.

    I trace his cheekbones with my fingers. “And even more bitter dreams. Am I wrong?” I know I’m not.

    He reaches down for my lips to kiss me. It’s the only answer I get. “You look like you need sleep,” he whispers.

    “Indeed,” I smile. _But I need something else before_ , my smile means. _I want you to stop sulking for a minute and free me of these clothes._ “But first I want to see you sitting on that comfortable chair behind me.” I like bringing that look of surprise to his face.

    “What do you mean?”

    I don’t answer and take his hand, pulling him behind me as I walk briskly to the steps and give him a gentle shove when he hesitates to climb them. He frowns, then smiles and bows his head in sign of acceptance. I can’t help smiling at the air of stately pride he assumes as he nears the throne. My very own usurper. He sits down and rests his hands on the arms. I take a few steps back. “What did you tell me Thor said about you and ruling?”

    “He said a throne would suit me ill.”

    I fake a pout. “I can hardly disagree with that, but I must let you know that you do suit the throne.” That was particularly lame; I must be more tired than I thought.

    I can tell he’s trying not to smile as he shakes his head. “Can we leave, now? This is ridiculous.”

    “It isn’t. And I’ve always wondered what the room looked like from up there.” I saunter up and sit on the wide metallic arm of the throne, jerking my chin up to look around. “Of course, it’s easier to see everyone from up here, even with only one eye.” I can feel Loki looking up at me and a faint smile flickers on my lips. I cross my legs and lean on the cold back behind me. “It’s large enough for both of us, isn’t it?”

    “Yes, it is,” Loki answers. He places his hand around my exposed thigh and traces the tattooed line up my leg with his thumb, increasing the warmth in my lower back. He knows what he’s doing. “How was your stay on Midgard?” he asks lightly.

    I give a dismissive shrug. “The Agency still doesn’t question my background, they trust the references we forged and seem contended with everything I did. Everybody now thinks I’m essential there and they want to keep me. I love it.” He winces imperceptibly when I say this and conceal my satisfaction. “You will be happy to hear that a few hours before I left, tonight, five more S.H.I.E.L.D. agents asked to face justice and were even ready to do time in prison.” This pleases him. He bites the inside of his cheek then runs the tip of his tongue on his lips. “Including agents Barton and Romanoff,” I add in a whisper, waiting for his reaction.

    His head snaps to the side and I see a genuine smile of delight in others’ pain that sends a thrill all over me. “Really?” I nod. He throws his head backwards and rests it on the back of the chair. “Oh, this is good.” My heart starts beating faster and I wonder how long I’ll keep that light teasing going before I _need_ to rip his clothes off. “I want you to tell me how you did it. I want every detail, every word and every twitch of their fingers.” His hand moves up my leg.

    I laugh. “Of course I’ll tell you, but not now. It was a long and complicated process, you know, and it will take a long time to explain.”

    “You can take all the time you want, as long as I hear about how doubt and pain made their way into them.” I can recognize the edge in his voice and shiver when I meet the lust in his eyes. There’s a second of expectation.

    I move before he does and straddle him, meeting his eager kiss. “They don’t suspect a thing, the idiots,” I whisper, my forehead resting on his. “They listen to me. Some of them even read my books and they think that because I never judge, I grant forgiveness. And I asked them questions about their dreams, about their childhood, about… feelings.” His hand slip under the tunic and he presses me to his body. “He fell first,” I add.

    “Of course he did,” Loki breathes out.

    He stifles the laughter birthing from my throat with another starved kiss, proving better than with words how much he missed me. I have to steady my breathing before I can continue speaking. “She took longer, but I never gave up. I had started on her before, months ago. I worked at it, and came back, again and again, until her sweet lover yielded and she could barely resist. I took all the time needed to break her ultimate defences down. Slowly. Step – by – step.” I feel his muscles strain as he breathes deeply and I kiss his neck, my hands pulling at his hair. “And,” I whisper into his ear. “She cried.”

    He seethes. “Real tears?” His tone ignites more waves of desire between my legs.

    “Real ones; I could tell.” His fingers twitch and pinch my skin hard. “Are you satisfied with me, Loki?”

    “This is a significant _first_ victory, my Eileen.” He grins.

    “Yes, first one indeed. I will continue. I will break them all, and _you_ will be avenged.”

    I know he’s heard my last words but he passes over them. “How do you do it?”

    I straighten and tower over him. He’s slumped in the chair a little and his breath is short. “I look nice,” I answer. “And harmless.”

    “Oh, no, you don’t.” He straightens up, making me feel his want for me. “Let’s leave. Now.”

    I smile and slide my hands down his ribcage to start unfastening his belt.

    He tenses up. “What are you doing?”

    “You know very well what I’m doing.”

    “It’s not a good idea, Eileen.”

    “Of course it is.”

    He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” But he doesn’t move.

    “And yet you’re letting me,” I slur, biting his lips, running my tongue over his teeth. His right hand closes behind my head when mine reaches between his legs. It takes him half a second to decide I’m right and he frees himself in one movement. His hips buck up under mine and I moan when I take him inside me.

    I rest his hands on my legs and press my lips to his ear. “From now on,” I whisper, “every time the Allfather sits here, you will remember. Every time you see Thor looking at the throne with envy, you will know.” He exhales sharply, the sinews in his neck stretching. I knew this would work.  “This seat,” I sigh, “is now ours too.”

    He sits up a little and kisses my collarbone, bites my shoulder, sinks his fingers into my hips and I can feel the skin bruising, but I don’t care, it will be gone by tomorrow morning. His movements send pulses of pleasure all over my body and I shift my hips to lock my legs around his back.

    All his muscles contract and I delight at hearing him mumble incomprehensible words. This will not last long enough for me, I can already tell. But I also know that as soon as we reach our rooms again, it will all be about hearing me scream. He leans his head back, allowing me complete control. His face suddenly strains, I feel the strong pulsation inside me, and I clutch the back of the throne on either side of his neck, the cold sensation on my sweaty palm pairing with a thousand other shivers.

    His hands fall limp as soon as I stop moving. I shudder and focus on catching my breath back. As I register what we just did, I realise our inability to resist each other’s temptation will end up with trouble. But it doesn’t matter.

    Loki’s eyes eventually shoot open and I smile at him. He straightens and reaches up for my lips. “Say it again,” he asks, kissing me hungrily.

    I _could_ tease him and pretend to list what he likes hearing. But the way his arms are locked tight around my back persuades me against it. So I wrap my hands over his face, making my fingers crawl on his forehead, pushing them into his hair, pressing my palms on his temples. I place my lips on his and take the time to taste them. Then I look into his eyes. “I love you,” I say.

    The desire and content in his pupils become tinted with hesitation. “Eileen, I… I can’t –”

    I silence him with a light kiss. “Shhhh,” I whisper. “You talk too much, Loki.”

    He smiles and closes his hand around the nape of my neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there! Thank you all for reading my story up to the end! I sincerely hope you enjoyed everything and found the characters entertaining. Feel free to leave any feedback!
> 
> I will post a larger sequel to this story over the summer.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


End file.
